


The Cost of Falling

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Bottom Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, M/M, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Minor Pamela Barnes/Benny LaFitte, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rigger Dean, Russian Castiel, Slow Burn, Soldier Castiel, Sports injuries, Top Castiel, aerialist Castiel, aerialist Dean, character injury, circus AU, mentions of smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 85,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The circus has been Dean’s life for nearly ten years, working behind the scenes to keep the closest thing he’s had to a home running. When a new performer is hired, he threatens to turn Dean’s world upside down.  Castiel, international aerialist extraordinaire, wants Dean to let go of the rigging, step out of the shadows, and perform with him. Can Cas convince Dean that taking the chance to believe in yourself is worth the cost of falling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Supernatural Reverse Big Bang. I chose a piece by Rhapsodean who is a phenomenal artist, and you should check out her master post for this art as well as all of her art on [Tumblr](http://rhapsodean.tumblr.com).
> 
> Working with her for the second year in a row has been an absolute pleasure. She gets me so excited to write, and I always look forward to what she's going to pluck from the text and make into a gorgeous work of art. All of the accompanying art for this story is just fantastic, and I felt like every piece she sent me was better than the last one! So, thank you for being an awesome partner for this fic and inspiring me to write my longest Supernatural fic to date.
> 
> I also have to give a huge thank you to Elle, who has been my beta for over a year now and she helps my ramblings make sense and encourages me. Thank you, darling, you are the best, especially when I send you new stuff to edit sometimes hours before I post it.

 

 

Dean moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. He'd been cooking dinner for him and Sammy and sometimes their father for over ten years. He set the table as he waited for the timer to run down. He'd tried a new recipe that he thought Sam would enjoy, and he was anxious for his brother to try it.

The timer went off, and Dean walked over to remove the casserole dish from the oven. The whole kitchen smelled delicious as Dean placed it on the stove top to cool before it was served.

“Sam, dinner's ready,” Dean called up the stairs to the room he shared with his younger brother. Sam was probably reading one of his school book again. The kid had an unhealthy love of learning in Dean's opinion. He should've been outside playing ball or something. Not that Dean had done that as a child, but that's what he thought normal kids did.

Sam came into the kitchen with a huge grin on his face. He sat down at the table and waited for Dean to serve their dinner.

Dean took the opportunity to ruffle his brother's hair as he passed him.

“Hey, hands off,” Sam complained, trying to set the unruly mess back to rights. He was due for a cut, but Dean hadn't had the chance to do it for him between work and housework.

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled on the oven mitts to carry the casserole over to the table. Sam's eyes went wide as he looked at the dish full of pasta, vegetables, and cheese.

“Wow, Dean. Why the feast?” Sam asked, mouthwatering as Dean placed it down right in front of him.

Wanted to try somethin' new. Mrs. Calloway gave me the vegetables from her green house when she saw me coming home from work,” Dean said, using a big spoon to serve the casserole to Sam.

Sam didn't even wait for Dean to serve himself. He dug right into the mixture, humming in pleasure as he devoured it. Dean just sat there watching him inhale the stuff for a moment.

Sammy was getting bigger. He was starting to hit growth spurts and build muscle. He was only thirteen, but Dean knew Sam was in for some growing. That meant more food and new clothes. Both things that they couldn't really afford with only Dean's salary at the factory.

Dean's thoughts were cut off by the front door slamming open. Sam put down his fork, giving Dean a put upon look. “Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said, getting up to go speak with John. Their father hadn't been home in over a week.

John looked about as put together as he always did after a week on the job. He told them he was a traveling salesman, but Dean didn't know too many salesmen that came home looking like their pop did. He had deep circles under his eyes. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him.

“What's there to eat?” John asked without greeting his son.

“I made casserole,” Dean said, taking his father's jacket and going to hang it, but John stopped him to remove his flask from the inner pocket. He unscrewed the top and took a swig before wandering into the kitchen.

Dean didn't say anything as John sat right down in what had been Dean's seat. He immediately helped himself to Dean's untouched food, so Dean went to the cabinet and took down another plate.

Sam was watching their father with the expression of mild disgust he usually wore when John wandered in after a week of two without any sort of contact.

Dean shook his head when Sam looked at him, and Sam's frown only grew. “Have a good trip, Pop?” Dean asked, setting his plate down and serving himself a much smaller portion than John or Sam's. Sam gave him a significant look, but Dean ignored him. The meal wouldn't go as far with three mouths eating it, and he wanted to have left overs to send to school with Sam tomorrow.

“Did you enlist yet?” John asked, ignoring Dean's question.

Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck raise.

“He's only been eighteen for _three days_ , Pop,” Sam said, managing to keep most of the anger out of his voice.

“You giving me lip, Samuel?” John asked, putting his fork down.

“I haven't had the time, Pop,” Dean cut in before John could get really angry. It hadn't even been five minutes. “Been workin' late to pick up some extra money, Pop. I haven't been able to get over to the recruitment office, but I'll go on the weekend,” Dean said, taking a seat and pushing the food around his plate.

“Tommy Egan's son enlisted the day he turned eighteen. You a coward, son?” John asked him.

Dean wasn't a coward. He wanted to enlist more than anything, but it wasn't that simple. Sam wasn't even fourteen years old yet. John was constantly away on “business,” and there was no one to look after Sam's wellbeing if not for Dean. John routinely forgot to leave them money to buy food. He wasn't known to clean the house, and he was swift with the belt when he and Sam got into it over...well, just about everything they discussed. Dean may have wanted to join the army and serve his country, but Sam came first.

“He's no coward,” Sam insisted, but Dean pinched his thigh under the table.

John turned to Sam looking him up and down. “Oh yeah, Sammy? How many real men do you know that wear and apron and do house work?” John asked.

Dean looked down at the apron he was wearing over his uniform. Of course, he'd forgotten to remove it before going to talk to John. Dean cursed himself for being sloppy.

“Probably about as many as have to take care of all the work their no good fathers leave behind while they go off drinking for a week at a time,” Sam retorted.

“What did you say to me?”

“I'll go down first thing tomorrow, Pop. I promise,” Dean said loudly, but John wasn't listening. He was pushing away from the table and reaching for his belt. Dean stepped between Sam and John, standing his full height. “I said, I'll go down tomorrow,” he repeated as John stood up.

“No! Dean, you can't,” Sam insisted, tugging on Dean's arm.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said quietly.

“No! You can't enlist. If...if you enlist, I'll run away. You'll never see me again,” Sam said.

“You don't have it in you, Sam. You'll be crawlin' back here before dinner,” John told him.

“No I won't. I'd rather live on the street than live with you! I'll join the circus. I'll go so far away you'll never find me,” Sam continued to push.

Dean knew that hit a chord. John tried to grab Sam around Dean, but Dean stood firmly in his way. “He's just worried, Pop. Don't mind him,” Dean said calmly.

“You want to turn out like your mother, Sam?” John asked.

“I'd rather be like her than like you,” Sam shouted, running down the hall and up the stairs to his room.

“He don't mean nothin' by it, Pop. He's just being a moody kid,” Dean said. “I'll go down Saturday morning and fill out all the paperwork.”

“He's got too many big ideas, Dean. If your mother could see him now, she'd weep. I did my best with you boys,” John said, sitting down heavily in his chair. “Didn't put the fear of God into your brother though.”

“Sam's a good kid. Doesn't fear anything, not even God,” Dean told him, going back into the kitchen and removing a beer from the refrigerator. He pulled off the apron he'd been wearing and shoved in into one of the kitchen drawers before bringing the beer back to his father.

John drank half of it in one gulp. “Real men enlist, son. They don't wait around to get picked off by the draft. They do their duty to this country, and they do it happily,” John said as Dean began picking at his dinner again. “Making house here like you're a woman won't work, Dean. Look at yourself. You cook dinner like a housewife, and you clean up. Men shouldn't be on their hands and knees cleaning, Dean. That's a woman's work.”

Dean didn't argue with him. He knew how his father felt about men who did housework. Called them all sorts of rude names. Dean knew he was a disappointment for taking up their mother's role when she died, but there wasn't much of a choice. Either Dean learned to take care of him and Sam, or they were going to starve to death in their dung heap of a house.

“I know, Pop. I'll be enlisted soon,” Dean repeated, waiting for John to finish his meal, so he could start the dishes. John would no doubt be headed back to the bar as soon as he was finished.

Once Dean finished the dishes and packed up the leftovers for Sam's lunch in the morning, Dean pulled one of the beers out of the fridge and walked out onto the back porch. His father would tan his ass if he caught Dean stealing his beer, but Dean didn't much care tonight.

He stared up at the cloudless sky, watching the stars shine to their hearts' content. He wondered if they watched from up there. If they saw all of the things that went on down here.

He reached into his pocket for his wallet and removed the small picture of his mother he had there. He looked at it by the light filtering out from the kitchen. She always looked so happy and alive in that picture. He felt like she shouldn't. She died probably only a few months after it was taken. He could never reconcile how full of life she had been with how abruptly she was taken from them.

Dean laughed bitterly to himself as he looked up at the sky. “Angels are watching over me, Ma? What a crock of shit,” he said, shoving the picture back into his pocket. If angels were watching over him, he wouldn't be faced with enlisting and losing Sam or not enlisting and losing the house over his head.

He had no doubt that John would kick him out if he chose not to enlist. That was a coward's choice in John's eyes. He'd served in the Great War. He'd joined up as soon as his parents agreed to sign the papers for him. He'd offered to sign for Dean when he turned seventeen, but Sam had gotten hurt and needed constant attention. Dean knew it was no accident, that Sam threw himself out of that tree. He'd nearly taken Sam over his knee himself for such a stunt, but he couldn't say he wasn't grateful.

Now though, there was no getting around it. It was either leave willingly or be forced out. Dean didn't exactly have enough money saved up to take Sam with him if he was kicked out. Most of his pay was going to keeping Sam fed and the house paid up.

Dean put his head in his hands, beer forgotten. “What do I do, Ma? You told me to always look out for him. How am I supposed to do that from half a world away?” Dean asked.

He didn't get any answers out there. He barely noticed the winter air as he sat there in his factory clothes. He just sat there until he slowly finished his beer, and he heard John come back again, before staggering up to bed.

His father's window was open like it always was. His mom had told him that John always felt too warm since he came back from the war. He always slept with the window wide open like he was still sleeping in the trenches.

He could hear his father moving around, and then, not for the first time, he heard his father crying. Dean never knew how to reconcile the John Winchester he'd grown to know and the man John was when he let himself think about Mary.

Dean didn't want to listen to his father's pain tonight. He knew Mary's death still haunted his father, but her death still haunted Dean and Sam too.

He pushed himself to his feet and went inside, turning off the kitchen light and going to the room he shared with Sam.

Sam had their father's old army issued duffel back on his bed, stuffed with god only knew what.

“What you up to, Sam?” Dean asked, going over to his night stand to put his wallet there. He noticed his box of belongings was missing and gave Sam a strange look. Sam knew better than to touch his things.

“I'm doin' it, Dean. I'm running away. Either you come with me, or I guess this is where we'll part ways,” Sam told him, standing up straight.

Dean wondered how Sam had learned to be so fearless. Dean didn't doubt that Sam meant every word he said.

“You're out of your mind, Sammy,” Dean told him. “Where the hell you gonna go? What the hell are you gonna do? You're thirteen. You haven't got a cent to your name,” Dean said, feeling unreasonably angry with Sam for thinking he could just run away.

“Anything is better than here. You let Dad walk all over you. You let him take your money and boss you around in the house you pay for. Now you're letting him send you to war, Dean. Men are dying over there, but Dad doesn't care. It's the manly thing to do. We'll I'm sick of it. I want to get as far away from this place as I can. I wrote to Uncle Bobby. He's in town until tomorrow, and I'm goin' with him,” Sam whispered angrily, making sure he couldn't be heard through the thin walls.

Dean just stared at his brother. “You've got a set of balls on you. I have half a mind to belt you myself, Sammy. You can't just run away. You have school. You have friends.”

“I've got a deadbeat dad, and a coward for a brother. Doesn't seem like I'll be leavin' much behind,” Sam said.

Dean knew he said it to get a rise out of him. He knew Sam didn't really think he was a coward. Dean _was_ a coward, but Sam didn't think that. He just wanted to make his words hurt, and he succeeded.

Sighing, Dean ran his hand over his face. “I'll walk you down to the fairgrounds, but if Uncle Bobby says he can't take you, you're coming right back here, because I'm not letting my little brother run away without a lick of sense to him,” Dean said, picking his coat up off his bed.

He lifted Sam's bag for him when it was clearly too heavy for Sam. “You put rocks in here or something?” Dean asked, hauling the thing up over his shoulder.

Sam just gave him a sour look and led the way out of the house. They could hear John snoring loudly through the door as they passed his room. Dean locked the house as they left, and Sam seemed to perk up once they were a few blocks away.

“I took the jar,” Sam said as they headed for the train tracks. That would be the fastest way to the fairgrounds, and the least patrolled.

“The jar?” Dean asked, not really getting what he was saying.

“Yeah, the jar of money Dad hides for himself. I figure that he owes us at least that much for the mortgage payments,” Sam explained.

“You what? No, Sam. What happens when he sees it's missing? What do I tell him?” Dean asked.

“If you come with me, you don't have to tell him anything,” Sam said, looking up at him with a grin.

It was tempting. Dean would love to be free of John, but that was a coward's way out. He wanted to enlist. He wanted to serve his country. He wanted to make his father proud. Running away would just make his father right about him.

“I'm not running, Sammy,” Dean told him, and they continued on in silence for nearly an hour before they left the tracks for the road to the fairgrounds. Before they ventured toward the cluster of tents and trailers, Sam stopped short.

“I love you, Dean. I'm proud of you no matter what you do. If you want to cook dinner and clean, I think you are the best big brother a boy could ask for. If you really want to be a soldier, then you'll be the best and bravest soldier there ever was. You aren't Dad, Dean. You never will be, and you may not like that, but I think that's the best thing in the world. I didn't know Mom, but I don't think she would've wanted you to turn out like Dad. I think she would have wanted you to follow your heart and be whoever it is you wanted to be,” Sam said, before heaving the bag off Dean's shoulder and pressing on ahead toward the camp.

Dean followed at a distance not knowing what to say. He tried not to think of what Mary would think of him. He knew what John said Mary would think of him, but he didn't know. His memories of his mother were varied and faded with time.

One of the last memories he had of her was after a fight she'd had with John. He'd said some mean things that Dean hadn't understood at the time. He'd called her loose because she'd lived with her traveling act for years before she'd married him. Dean remembered hugging his mother when John had left, and he remembered telling her he loved her, and he remembered her promising that she'd always love him and be proud of him no matter what.

Dean shook off the memory, looking at Sam as he crossed the fairgrounds with an air of determination. He looked back the way they had come, and up at the sky. Then he jogged to catch up to Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

10 Years Later

Dean had his head under the hood of Bobby's truck trying to figure out why the damn thing was kicking up such a fuss. Sometimes Dean thought the truck was more temperamental that Jody's horses. At least the horses could be bribed with carrots. There was always something wrong with the old truck, and Dean often found himself wondering if Gabriel had something to do with it; the clown was always getting into some sort of trouble, and most of it wasn't part of the act. The man was a regular trickster, and it made Dean's life difficult.

Dean jumped, almost hitting his head on the hood as someone tapped on the side of the vehicle. Dean pulled his body free of the car with a growl, only to find Sam leaning against it, grinning like he knew exactly what he'd done.

“You need something, or you just come over here to bother me?” Dean asked, wiping his hands on the cloth he had hanging out of the back pocket of his coveralls.

“Thought I'd see what you were doing out here in the rain when anyone with a lick of sense is indoors,” Sam said, tipping his head back to look up into the steady downfall.

“I'm doing my job. Somethin' no one around here does when they've got any excuse not to. No one is going to melt from a little rain,” Dean said, diving back into the truck's guts.

“Now you sound like you've spent too many Saturdays in the theater watching Dorothy and her red slippers,” Sam teased him, plucking the wrench Dean was reaching for out of his grasp. “There's been talk, Dean,” Sam said, lowering his voice even though there was no one around.

“Talk of what?” Dean grunted, pulling the wrench out of Sam's hand and leaning back under the hood.

“Don't pretend like you don't hear everything that goes on around camp. You know more than anyone, except maybe for Pam, but she's psychic,” Sam retorted, leaning under the hood as well. Dean still couldn't get over the growth spurt that put Sam several inches taller than him. It had been years, but Dean would never get used to looking up at his little brother.

“There's always talk, Sam. Nothing worth getting worked up over. We do what they hired us to do, and we keep our noses clean, and we'll get by. We always do,” Dean said.

“But what if I'm not happy just doin' what they hired us to do? What if I want to do something more?”

“It would do you good to learn your place, Sam. We aren't meant for that. We fix the trucks. We fix the rigging. We don't wear tights and paint our faces and run around the ring.”

“Don't you ever get sick of sticking your head in this old truck and trying to get it moving? Don't you get sick of taking orders from everyone? Of working when everyone else is relaxing?” Sam asked, reaching into the block and pulling out one of Gabriel's signature playing cards. “Don't you ever get sick of being the clown's joke?”

Dean wiped his forehead again. He wanted to kill Gabriel most days, but that wouldn't change anything as far as his place with the company went. Sure, Dean had stood under the big top on quiet evenings before they opened, or long after everyone had left, imagining what it would be like to be under the spotlight and be cheered for. However, Dean wasn't a star. He had steady hands, and he knew how to handle the mechanics of this whole operation. It was a thankless job, but they couldn't put the show on without him. Knowing he always had a paycheck coming was much safer than hearing the cheers of the audience night after night. Audiences were fickle. Tastes changed, and the star that brought in bodies one month could be cast aside the next.

“I don't get tired of having food in my belly, Sam. I don't get tired of having clothes on my back and a place to sleep at night. People are starving to death. I don't want to be one of them,” Dean said, putting his tools down and stepping out into the rain.

“What if talk is correct this time? What if Zachariah closes us down because we aren't bringing in enough money?”

“Then I'll work in a factory or on the docks. I won't be takin' my tights and begging another circus to take me. I'm not risking my future on vanity, Sam. You shouldn't either, and you shouldn't be lookin' where your eye's not supposed to be.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest and frowning at Dean's words. Dean could tell he was getting defensive, but he needed to hear it.

“It means that you're right. I do know everything that goes on in my tent, and I know you've been carrying on with Zachariah's niece. Miss Moore's been 'round this tent an awful lot lately, askin' all sorts of questions 'bout the show. That gets noticed. So does the way her clothes are mussed up when she sneaks out of the stalls before goin' back to her room at the nurse's school. She's slummin' with you, Sam. She's havin' her fun, but she'll become a nurse, and she'll forget the man from the circus her uncle runs ever existed, and she'll be right to do so,” Dean told him, letting the rain soak him through.

“You're an ass, Dean. Jessica isn't like that. We love each other.”

“I'm sure you do, Sam, but I'm just as sure that it can never work out,” Dean told him, pulling his pack of smokes out of his pocket and bending to keep the match out of the rain as he lit it.

“I'll prove you wrong. I can be a performer. Charlie's teaching me to fire dance. I'm good at it. You'll see. And things with Jessica are going to work out too,” Sam told him, stalking back toward their trailer.

Dean sighed, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. That hadn't gone well. He hadn't meant to come off so strong, but he had heard the rumors. Sam saw the uncertainty as an opportunity to make himself an asset with his own act. Dean saw it as an excuse for anyone to be expendable. Performers were expendable if they weren't the main attraction. As much of a family as everyone was, Zachariah was there for the bottom line. He didn't have a problem with sending any one of them packing.

Dean picked up Gabriel's card from the top of the engine block. Now it was only a matter of what integral part he'd replaced with the damn thing. Dean turned it over, but instead of it being the usual Joker card, it was one of Pam's Tarot cards. The Wheel of Fortune covered the front, and Dean crumpled it up and threw it into the rain. He didn't believe any of that nonsense; he believed in what he could do with his own two hands, and right now that was to fix Bobby's damn car before he drowned out in the deluge.

Dean was just finishing up when he saw a taxi stop just outside the fair grounds. A figure stepped out wearing a trench coat that wasn't closed as well as a hat tipped to combat the heavy rain. They pulled two large bags out of the trunk of the car and plodded through the mud toward the main trailer. Dean studied their progress, mesmerized for no discernible reason. The ringleader, Michael, opened the door as the figure approached, flooding the stoop with light.

Dean watched the short exchange as he lowered the hood of the truck. He didn't take his eyes of the lead trailer, even once the newcomer was inside and the door was shut. Dean did look away as the wind kicked up and something wet slapped against his pant leg, looking down to see the crumpled card sticking to the leg of his coveralls. Dean fought the shiver that ran down his spine as he kicked his leg to dislodge it paper.

“What a bunch of nonsense,” he grunted, stalking back to his own trailer.

The following morning, 'talk' was confirmed when Zachariah made a rare appearance at the fairgrounds outside of show time. The man arrived in his fine suit and soft leather shoes, and Dean was tasked with laying down planks and mats from the parking area to the tent itself just so Zachariah didn't ruin his loafers. Dean thought it was outrageous, but he did it because he valued his job.

The whole troupe was anxious as they gathered around the ring. The last time Zachariah had visited, he'd sent two performers packing. There had been no reason given. They were just expected to be off the fairgrounds and on their way by evening.

Jo and Charlie sat side by side on the divider that surrounded the ring, waiting for bad news and giving each other some courage. Pam sat tucked against Benny's side, and her hand was clasped with Ash's—he did all of the lighting and electrical work for the show while Dean and Bobby took care of the mechanical.

Dean stood at the back of the pack with Bobby. This wasn't about them. They hadn't had a failure in the rigging for several years, and even that had been due to outside forces. Dean wasn't really interested in what fear Zachariah had come to put into their hearts. Michael was missing too, which meant he was aware of whatever was going to be announced. Sometimes Dean wondered if Michael really worked for Zachariah, or if it was actually the other way around. The ringleader was too savvy to be right hand to a man like Zachariah, but there was no denying that Zachariah was the bankroll for this operation.

No one looked happy as Zachariah stepped through the entry of the tent, flanked by Michael and a man Dean had never seen before. Although, the trench coat he was wearing gave Dean pause.

“What do you make of that?” Bobby asked, pointing at the new man.

“I think it spells trouble. Either Zachariah has a new spy or he's stirring things up. Either way—trouble,” Dean said, keeping to the shadows that led to the stables. He had work to be doing that was more important than this.

Zachariah adjusted his tie as he stood up straighter. “Listen up. Things need to change around here. Audiences become bored of the same old show. They want more. They want new. They want an experience you can't get anywhere else. Our show isn't cutting it, ladies and gentlemen. Paris has men flying through the air. Russia has acrobats. What do we have? We have a pony that jumps through hoops. We have Benny lifting women on benches. People will lose interest if we don't have our own attraction...”

“Like I said, trouble,” Dean said, pointing out Jo's indignant face. Charlie didn't look much happier. Behind them stood Meg with her arms crossed and a stormy look on her features. Dean didn't want to see what she could do when angry; the women's act involved a boa constrictor that could make a meal of one of Jody's horses, but her specialty was in poisonous reptiles. Watching Meg dance with her vipers was the most terrifying act Dean ever had the pleasure of seeing. There was a reason no one messed with her, even Zachariah. She'd been their top billed act for nearly two years at one point.

“...and I happen to have secured us our brand new attraction. Castiel! We've snatched him from the Parisian Circus who snatched him from the Russians earlier. He's an aerialist. The man practically has wings, and he will be our new headline,” Zachariah announced, indicating the man beside him.

“What sort of act?” Gabriel asked. He was the only one of them crazy enough to talk back when Zachariah laid down one of his manifestos.

Before Zachariah could answer, the newcomer stepped forward. He had dark hair and a fair amount of scruff on his jaw. He looked like he'd spent more nights in dimly lit bars recently than he had under a spotlight.

“Silks, lyra, trapeze,” Castiel said succinctly. His accent wasn't heavy at all just enough to know he wasn't from here, but light enough not to distract. Or maybe 'trapeze' was just meant for a foreign tongue.

“No offense, but trapeze is an act for two,” Gabriel said with no small amount of sarcasm, “Unless of course, you just plan to sit on it and swing. Bet that will bring the masses.”

Even from this distance, Dean could see the vein in Zachariah's head pounding. However, once again, Castiel spoke before he could.

“I wish to take a partner here. My former partner and I had a falling out...”

“Was it in the literal sense, and were you the one to drop him?” Gabe asked, showing that he had no sense of self preservation.

“She, and no I never dropped her. We had different...ideologies. I've been looking for a partner for nearly a year, and Mr. Zachariah promised me that he had the best performers in all of America,” Castiel explained.

“ _Sure_ he does, but none of us are what you're looking for,” Gabriel told him, crossing his arms and standing his ground. Gabriel didn't take well to fresh meat—he'd scared three prospective acts right out of the tent in the last two years. “Unless you want to see if one of Meg's vipers is a keen flier.”

Castiel's lips turned up in a sardonic smile at that. “I'm not looking for someone who can fly. I'm looking for someone who knows the consequences of falling,” Castiel said, looking out at the group of performers.

Dean watched Meg meet Castiel's gaze as he looked around. “What's the consequence of falling for you, Clarence?” she asked, voice dripping with innuendo.

Dean snorted, but no one heard him other than Bobby, who was rolling his eyes at her spunk.

Castiel squinted at her for a moment before Michael took over. “Enough Meg. Your act isn't changing. We can't afford to keep animals that aren't in use. Benny, I'm not entirely sure that Dean can rig anything to support your weight safely, so you're out too,” he said, looking over the group of performers.

“What about me, Mike? I'd look great up there. I could even keep the clown costume,” Gabriel suggested.

“If he wants to take on you as a headache, it's his own punishment,” Michael said, shaking his head. Castiel watched everyone silently as Michael ranted, his eyes seeming to evaluate everyone present. They even lingered on Sam for a minute, sizing him up.

“I swear. If he puts any more ideas in Sam's head than Sam already has in there, I'm going to show him the consequences of faulty rigging,” Dean growled, but Castiel's eyes soon moved on.

“You were right. This is going to be trouble,” Bobby said, watching everyone perk up like true performers, hoping to get picked for the starring role.

“Get back to work,” Zachariah ordered, and everyone jumped to get back to practicing their routines.

“Looks like we're going to have rigging to put up,” Dean said, walking out of the tent. Bobby followed him, grumbling about Zach just making more work for them.

Dean had a bad feeling about the whole thing. New acts were a part of the business, but what Zachariah and Castiel wanted was to pluck someone and groom them for what they wanted. Dean didn't doubt that Castiel's last partner probably butted heads with him; it would be hard to have trust in someone to catch you when they wanted to control you.

“You talk to Michael. I need to head off Sam before he gets any ideas about becoming an aerialist. It's bad enough that he dances around with flaming batons,” Dean complained as he headed for Sam's favorite place to hang out—out behind the big tent where Ellen and Jo's trailer was set up, as well as Pam and Benny's.

Sure enough, Sam was out there practicing the moves that Charlie had taught him using unlit—thankfully, for Dean's sanity—poi. Dean would never admit it aloud, but Sam was a natural. Even though his body was big, it wasn't ungainly. He moved gracefully, and he'd already mastered the moves that Charlie had taught him. He spun the poi easily, whipping them around his body as he moved. It would look incredible when they were lit, but Dean still didn't like the idea of Sam earning his living like this. Sam had always had too much potential to waste it on a brief career as a circus performer; he could be a doctor, a lawyer, anything he put his mind to. He could become someone that girls like Jessica Moore could actually fall in love with. It wasn't that Dean doubted Miss Moore's feelings for his brother, he just knew that it could never work out.

“Zachariah's got a new act coming. You know what that means,” Dean said as he stepped in front of Sam.

Sam brought the poi down slowly, chest heaving from the exertion of the elaborate routine. “Means that everyone else is expendable. I know how it works Dean. I've been here just as long as you have,” Sam told him.

“But you're the one who wants to do something that would put himself right in Zachariah's war path. You already are. What if he catches you with Miss Moore?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low. There were ears everywhere, and the last thing he needed was for the wrong set to catch wind of what he was saying.

“I can handle myself, Dean. I don't need you acting like Dad,” Sam said, and Dean felt it like the blow Sam meant it to be.

“I'm not Dad. I'm just tellin' you how it is,” Dean retorted, stepping back as Sam started to swing his torches again.

“I'm not looking to learn the trapeze if that's why you're over here, Dean,” Sam told him, changing his motions so that the poi circled in opposite directions. “Maybe you should consider it. No one's fallen from the rigging as many times as you have,” he teased.

“No thank you, Sam. I'm perfectly happy with my feet planted firmly on the ground,” Dean defended himself.

“Don't I know it. Head stuck in the mud if you ask me,” Sam retorted.

Dean waved off Sam's comments, turning to go back to work.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had his head under the water pump when Michael found him. Dean was always a little unsettled by how much like his father Michael looked. Well, how much like his father before the Great War. John had aged since then more than the man should have. Still, it was strange working for someone that looked disturbingly like the man he'd run away from. Pam would have something to say about unfinished business, but Dean didn't believe in that nonsense.

“Dean, need you to handle the rigging for Castiel's equipment. Says he just wants silks right now, no trapeze yet,” Michael was all business as usual. The man had a smile that could charm every man, woman, and child under the big top, but when the spotlight was off he was sharp as a sword and expected everyone to work quickly.

“I've already got Bobby workin' on it,” Dean answered, pumping another splash of cold water over his head. He was hot from carrying sacks of feed and bales of hay around the stables. Ordinarily Benny would help him with that job, but all of the performers were sticking closely to their practice routines. None wanted to be seen as expendable while Zachariah was around.

“Bobby's on it? He's going to climb up there and secure the rigging? Bobby can barely climb a ladder these days,” Michael said, gripping the handle of the pump and pushing it down hard, sending more cold water than necessary all over Dean's head. It cascaded down his chest and back, soaking his shirt.

Dean sputtered, coming up and shaking his head free of the droplets that clung to his hair. “Really, Michael?” he asked, pulling his suspenders off his shoulders and tugging his white shirt out of his pants. It was plenty warm out, but Dean didn't ordinarily make a habit of walking around without his shirt. Didn't much like being on display in any way. Still, he unbuttoned it since it was completely saturated. “The silks need to be set out, and the rigging gets started before I climb up there. Bobby's the best we got at that seein' as I haven't rigged too many silks in my day. When he's done, I'll climb the damn ladder for you and not a moment sooner, unless you want this new star of yours leaving on a stretcher,” Dean said, standing his full height beside Michael. Height was really the only advantage he had on the man.

“Don't forget your place, Dean. You aren't indispensable either. I can always find someone who knows aerial rigging,” Michael told him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You won't. You hire someone else, and you'll have to pay 'em what they’re worth. You can't afford better than me, not while Zachariah's pulling the purse strings,” Dean retorted, walking past him toward his trailer. He'd leave his shirt in there before seeing if Bobby was ready for him.

Dean stepped into the frenzy of the big tent. Jody rode past him, standing on the back of her beautiful white horse. Her balance was perfect as she rode around the ring. Charlie danced in the center, twirling around with a lit staff. Meg was in the lion's cage speaking softly to the wild beast while Lucifer stood on the outside watching her charm his animal. Dean would never understand Meg's ability to calm animals when she seemed to rub humans completely wrong.

Bobby was off to the side as Dean approached. He had beautiful looking silks spread out on the bleachers so they didn't get dirty. Bobby nodded up at the rope that led up to the nest at the top of the tent. “Best get climbing, boy,” he said. Dean nodded his head, taking the center of the silks over one shoulder and the rope rigging and fastener over the other.

Dean walked over to the center ring and chalked his hands. Several of the female performers paused as he took the rope in hand and began to climb it easily, using his leg to wrap it in the rope and push himself up. He'd been climbing the ropes for so long it had become second nature but still, every time he set the rigging to rights while the performers were practicing they acted like he was the one putting on a show.

Dean made quick work of the climb, then easily traversed the cross beam to the center of the ring. He wrapped his legs around the beam and hung there upside down as he got his rigging to rights, fastening the anchor around the beam to ensure that it would hold far more than a man's weight. The beam was steady as was the anchor, so he carefully started to weave the silks through the anchor.

“Bobby, make sure they're even,” Dean called down, refusing to look below him. Dean didn't much care for heights. He could climb up and do his job, but looking down always made his stomach drop.

“Pull.”

That wasn't Bobby's voice. That sounded distinctly like Castiel's deep lilt. Dean cautiously looked down and sure enough, Castiel was standing beneath him staring up at him like he was watching a particularly interesting insect.

“Pull?” Dean asked, trying not to focus on the distance he was from the ground with no net below him.

“Yes, I'm holding the ends, if you pull you will see which end has too much slack,” Castiel informed him. So, Dean held both silks in his hands and pulled until he found the left didn't go taut. He eased that side through just a little then tried again. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him the entire time.

“That look good?” Dean asked when he had the silks secured.

“It looks perfect,” Castiel told him, never taking his eyes off Dean.

Dean tried not to shiver under the man's scrutiny. Instead, he climbed back over to the rope and slowly lowered himself back to the ground. Everyone else had gone back to their work by then, but Castiel stood at the bottom of the rope, holding it steady.

“You're a natural in the air,” Castiel told him as Dean stepped away from the rope.

“Climbing up and down, putting this tent up, and tearing it down again every few days can do that to you,” Dean said, brushing off Castiel's comment.

“What is your act?” Castiel asked, standing a little too close to Dean for propriety's sake.

“I'm a mechanic. My act is this show going off without a disaster and getting us from point A to point B,” Dean told him, wiping his hands on his pants as he walked over to Bobby.

“You have a strong body, and you are steady,” Castiel continued.

“You keep talkin' like that, and I'll think you're getting' fresh with me,” Dean said. He stopped and turned to look at Castiel.

“I am sorry. I just believe you would make a good aerialist.”  
“I know Zachariah probably gave you free reign over who you want in your act, but I'm not free pickin's. I don't perform. I tie knots that don't come undone. I fix engine blocks that have been tampered with. I hang silks, and I haul feed. I don't put on tights and perform. Find someone else,” Dean told him, standing his ground.

“Why?” Castiel's question was simple, but Dean didn't have a simple answer for it.

“Why did you leave your last partner?” Dean asked instead.

Castiel looked like he wasn't going to answer. He narrowed his gaze at Dean, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly like he was sizing Dean up. “She fell pregnant,” Castiel said at long last.

“Was it yours?” Dean followed up immediately. He had not time for men that abandoned their own families.

“No, and neither was she. She chose a family over everything we worked for,” Castiel told him.

“And you blame her for that?”

“We spent ten years creating that act. It couldn't have taken her much more than ten minutes to destroy it.”

“If that's what you think, then you're the one that destroyed your act. You want someone up there you can manipulate, not someone you can trust. There's a difference. What you do is manipulate the audience; you want their attention, and you give them a thrill for it. What I do is make sure that thrill isn't too much for them. I make sure that you can trust your equipment. We work on two different policies, and when you start mixing the two people get hurt. So, thank you for your compliments, but I like my job just fine,” Dean explained.

“You give a lot of devotion to a profession you despise,” Castiel said.

“I don't despise it, just the people who take advantage of it. My mother was a vaudeville performer. She left the life when she had me.”

Castiel gave him another odd look, but Dean walked away from him. There was always plenty of work to be done. There was no point in arguing for argument’s sake.

Dean was eating his lunch with Benny when Castiel climbed the silks the first time. Most of the performers had broken for lunch, so the ring was clear as he stepped into the tent in a pair of striped tights and nothing else. The man had a strong body, lean but hard. He walked with purpose past the sea of curious eyes. He pulled the silks apart and, in the blink of an eye, was halfway up them.

Benny whistled low as the man began a routine of stretches, loosening up his muscles slowly. First, he lowered himself into a Russian split before turning in either direction slowly. Then he laid himself out, legs tangled in the silks so he could arch his back gracefully.

“He's good,” Jo said, coming to sit behind them.

“He knows it too,” Dean remarked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You are allowed to when you have a whole tent of professionals mesmerized,” Jo said, slapping Dean on the back of the head lightly. Dean did his best not to choke on the bland sandwich. He wouldn’t give Jo the satisfaction.

“I agree with Dean. Castiel is struttin' around like a peacock,” Benny noted as Castiel hung upside down in the silks, legs spread wide. It was more erotic than the naughty show Dean and the guys stopped in every time they passed through the city.

“Jealousy doesn't flatter you boys,” Jo told them, moving back over to her mother and Charlie.

“I'm not jealous of him,” Dean said to Benny as they both watched Castiel move fluidly between the silks.

“No,” Benny agreed, finishing his sandwich. “I should get back to work,” he said, patting Dean on the shoulder as he stood.

“So should I,” Dean said, but he didn't get up. He continued to watch Castiel contort himself in the air.

Castiel had the charisma of a headline performer. Not just their headline performer, but a headliner for a major circus. New York, Paris, Russia, Castiel could be their man. He demanded attention. He evoked awe, and he was a truly brilliant artist. “I should get back to work,” Dean repeated, but Benny had long gone. Still, Dean sat there until Castiel finally set foot back on the ground after a long time up in the air.

Dean stood up as Castiel looked up at the rigging. “Is it to your satisfaction?” he asked, walking toward Castiel. He might as well make it look like his staring was just professional interest.

“It'll do. It would be better if there were two,” Castiel remarked, giving Dean a pointed look.

“You only gave me one set of silks,” Dean said, purposely ignoring the suggestion.

“There's no rush,” Castiel told him, sounding completely confident. Dean wasn’t even sure that Castiel was talking about a second set of silks or a second person anymore.

“Look, Mr.—”

“Novak,” Castiel filled in for him.

“I don't much care what your last name is, Castiel. I also don't much care for your agenda. I'm not a clown. I don't run around and entertain the folks who sit in the stands. I don't plan to either, so it would be best for everyone if you just set your sights on someone else,” Dean said, turning on his heel to go back to working on Bobby's engine.

Gabriel was standing in his way at the edge of the tent. “Not getting along with our new attraction, Dean-o?” he asked, infusing his words with that infuriating smugness he was known for.

“None of your business, Gabe,” Dean said, stepping around Gabriel.

Gabe was too fast though, stepping into his path again. “He seems to have taken a shine to you though.”

“We aren't having this discussion, Gabe.”

“Oh, but we are. What has you so hostile to our flying angel? You know that's what they called him in the Parisian Circus? He was their darling, but now he's here. Not very loyal if you ask me, or maybe he has some dark secret he's hiding from. What do you think, Dean?” Gabriel asked, sounding very concerned. It was all a lie, just another manipulation.

“I think I'm going to hang you from his silks if you don't get out of my way,” Dean threatened.

Gabriel clicked his tongue patronizingly. “Such a temper, Dean-o. One might think doth protest too much when it comes to our angel.”

Dean didn't wait to hear anymore. He pushed Gabriel aside and walked out of the tent. He didn't protest too much. He barely knew the man, other than his name. Dean didn't understand why he was supposed to instantly be enamored by him; sure, his little performance in the silks had been pretty, but it was no more impressive than Jo's knife act or Meg's viper act.

Dean spent the rest of the day working as far away from the performers as possible. He didn't want to hear their gossip about the new arrival or his stunning routine. He didn't want to see Castiel or get pressed again. He definitely didn't want to see Zachariah. He hated the man on a good day—if Zach got wind of Castiel's interest, Dean would have no peace.

Pam found him out in the field, under the stars, long after the show had ended for the night. There were still some stragglers milling about the fairgrounds, but it was getting close to time for Dean to check the equipment.

“You didn't even come in to see Benny tonight,” Pam said, sashaying over to his side. She was still made up as Madam Pamela. The turban was a bit much, but Zachariah insisted it made her seem more authentic. Little did Zach know, one couldn't get more authentic than Pamela Barnes, props or not.

“Not much in the mood for it tonight,” Dean said, taking a sip of his beer as he gazed up at the stars.

“You aren't much in the mood for what exactly?” she asked, taking a seat beside him. She didn't seem to care that the field was muddy or that the slit in her wrap dress went all the way to her upper thigh, and she was sitting spread eagle. There was no light to see by, but it wasn't exactly dignified.

“You tell me, Madame Pamela.”

“I have things to tell you, Dean, but you aren't going to be happy to hear them, and I didn't even have to ask the spirits for these answers,” she said, sounding fed up with his attitude. “I think you're afraid to see how much everyone enjoys what we do. We aren't the sideshow your father told you we were. I think if you look inside that tent when the energy is high, you'll have to stop lyin' to yourself. You'll have to admit you're just scared. Your place isn't with the rigging. It's wherever you want it to be. You just have to stop being afraid of falling on your face.”

“Do I owe you a nickel for that?” Dean asked, feeling bitter of how she could see right through him.

“I'll let you have that for free, but if I have to do this again, it will definitely cost you,” she told him, snatching his beer out of his hands and finishing it in one long gulp. “Come by our trailer tonight. Sam has something to show us,” she said as she got up off the ground. “Oh, and Dean, don't you dare discourage him for having dreams when you're afraid of your own.”

Dean frowned as she walked away, reaching into his breast pocket and removing the only two photographs he had of his mother. He removed his lighter from his pocket and flicked it to life in front of the pictures. He looked at the picture of his mother and him taken just months before her death. They'd never even had a proper burial. They'd never recovered her body from the river where she'd crashed over the barrier.

The second picture was her in a leotard, sitting bareback on a pure white stallion in the center of the ring. His grandmother had told him what a wonder she'd been on the vaudeville circuits. She'd performed with some of the greats, and they'd thought she'd get snatched up by Hollywood, but she met his father instead. Pregnant women were not nearly as marketable as fresh faced maidens, and she'd left the circus she'd been traveling with to start a family instead.

Dean ran his thumb over the picture as the light flickered in the wind. He barely remembered his mother. He remembered her singing to him when he had nightmares; he remembered that she used to tell him that angels were watching over him, but he didn't believe in angels. Angels wouldn't leave he and his brother motherless. They wouldn't let his father become an alcoholic. They wouldn't let Dean and Sam run away and have to fend for themselves when Sam was only thirteen. Dean had lost his faith a long time ago, so the only thing he had left of his mother was the circus. Her first love.

Dean shoved the photographs back into his breast pocket and snapped the lighter closed. He slowly pushed to his feet and headed back toward the big tent. He had work to do if he was going to make it to Pam and Benny's trailer before everyone went to bed.

Dean wasn't really paying attention as he slipped through the flap into the tent, but as soon as he stepped inside he realized that the tent wasn't as empty as he was expecting. Castiel was hanging from the silks, stretched out in and arabesque. His eyes were closed as the silks slowly spun him.

Without opening them, Castiel changed positions, unwrapping his torso and taking the silks around his legs instead. He swung around upside down from his crooked knee, his other leg out straight to create a triangle with its mate.

Dean was mesmerized for the second time that day. Castiel paid no attention to his surroundings, moving in the silks like a spider in its web. He was so comfortable there that he never second guessed himself, never even had to look at what he was doing.

After several minutes, Dean realized that Castiel had no plans of coming down any time soon, so he set about making sure the stands were cleaned and the apparatuses were in good condition.

Dean was checking poles that held the tent when he heard Castiel humming. At first, he didn't realize it was actually a song, but after a few moments he came to recognize it. It was so familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Castiel continued to hum it as he slowly spun, changing positions to the ebb and flow of the music. Castiel's back was arched, spinning quickly with his right hand and foot wrapped in the silks as Dean realized where he'd heard the song before.

He remembered sneaking into his parents’ room not long after his mother had died. He remembered opening his mother's jewelry box, and this song began to play as he watched the tiny carved ballerina spin much as Castiel was doing now. Around and around she'd spun as the tinny notes played.

His father must have heard it, because he'd come into the room in a fury. He'd snatched the box off the dresser and hurled it at the wall. Dean had run from the room as his father broke down in tears, the little twist motor still playing the last notes of the song even though the box was smashed to pieces.

Dean dropped the broom he was carrying and fled the tent. He didn't look back even as he heard Castiel call his name in concern.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean couldn't seem to free himself of Castiel. Every day during lunch, Castiel would climb the silks or the lyra and put on a show. He had Dean rigging new equipment almost every day. Dean didn't know where it was all coming from. He'd never even heard of a lyra before.

“What the hell do you do with this?” Dean asked as Castiel held up the smooth metal hoop for Dean to look at.

“Much the same as I do with my other equipment. Can you hang it or not?” Castiel asked. His tone was clipped. It had continued to become more so since Dean continued to shoot down his every inquiry as to whether Dean would consider an aerial act.

Dean could handle Castiel's frustration. It was all of the new types of rigging he had to learn that was killing him. How the hell was he supposed to secure a giant metal hoop from the rafters?

“Of course, I can,” Dean insisted, grabbing the heavy ring from Castiel and carrying it away.

“How the hell do I rig this, Bobby?” Dean asked, standing outside his uncle's trailer.

Bobby gave him a tired look. “Why don't you ask the man who uses it?” Bobby retorted. He always called it as he saw it, and he’d been given it to Dean straight every time Dean came to him grumbling about Castiel’s newest demands. Bobby told him to lay the law down or deal with it, but Dean didn’t really know how to be any clearer with Castiel, especially when the man’s offers were actually tempting if they weren’t coming from him.

“I can't.”

“You can't?”

“Just tell me how it's done,” Dean begged. It wasn’t dignified, but he was desperate not to look like a fool in front of Castiel.

“No can do, Dean. Never saw one of those before. Either make some calls to New York or Chicago, or ask the damn aerial specialist we hired,” Bobby told him. His lack of sympathy for Dean's standoff with Castiel was becoming irritating.

Castiel was clearly trying to humiliate him because he refused to do what Castiel wanted. Dean refused to lose this battle, and if that meant calling every circus in that damn country, he'd do it.

Dean stalked away from Bobby's trailer, awkwardly toting the massive hoop as he went.

Dean wanted to swing the thing at Gabriel as he stepped into Dean's path. “A lyra? That's quite the fancy piece of equipment. Are you trying to bribe Castiel's favor by getting him fancy gifts?” Gabriel asked, circling Dean to get a look at the contraption.

“No.”

“Man, I haven't seen one of those since I was in St. Louis. They had this lady. Best contortionist I've ever seen, my god she could tie herself in knots. What was her name?” Gabriel paused, snapping his fingers as though he was trying to summon the name out of thin air, or his brain—as far as Dean knew, they were equally vacant. “That's it. Mademoiselle Mamelon,” he said in a perfect French accent. “She specialized in this lyra act that had men...and women coming from miles and miles around. She did the act almost completely naked, and my god, the things she did hanging there. Great woman. I think she's still there,” Gabriel said. “Can't wait to see what Castiel does with it. Maybe he'll convince Meg to join him up there. Now that would be a show.” Gabriel made a crude noise before wandering off to cause trouble.

Dean rolled his eyes and continued his quest. However, Benny and Pam had no idea how to rig the thing. Nor did Ellen or Jody. Dean was out of people he could ask, and Castiel would be expecting the thing hung sooner rather than later.

Dean made some excuses about running to the hardware store to buy supplies and took Bobby's truck into town. He went to the library, but after reading several books, he still couldn't find an answer. He had his own ideas, but he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Castiel and everyone else if they were wrong.

Dean finally went looking for a phone. He waited as the operator put him in contact with a small circus based out of St. Louis. It took a while for the call to connect, but this was Dean's best lead.

“Hello,” a man answered eventually.

“Yes, hello, I'm with the Lawrence Traveling Circus. I'm looking for a woman who does a lyra act with your circus. I believe her name is Mademoiselle Mamelon,” Dean said, poorly pronouncing the name.

“Who is this?” the man on the other end demanded. “I'll have you arrested for harassment,” he said, hanging up.

Dean looked at the phone, glaring at the mouth piece. That clearly wasn't the answer he was looking for. Dean ended up going back to the fairgrounds. Castiel was outside the tent, smoking a cigarette when Dean pulled the truck to a stop.

Dean hadn't even picked up the sacks of feed while he was out, and he had nothing to justify his disappearance. Castiel was watching him as he sat frozen in the truck. There was no way not to have a confrontation about the lyra if he got out.

Dean took the coward's route and pulled back out, driving to pick up the feed. When he returned the second time, Benny was outside with Bobby, sharing a beer.

“Thought you'd be back a long time ago,” Bobby said as he went to the bed of the truck the pull out a sack of feed.

“Got held up,” Dean lied.

“Castiel said you pulled out, lookin' spooked,” Benny said, grinning at Dean as he hefted three massive bags over his shoulder. It was helpful being friends with the strongman, even if he did give Dean a hard time when he was being ridiculous.

“Forgot something.”

“Might it have been your backbone?” Benny asked, grinning at his own joke.

“Yeah, yeah, have a laugh. Nobody's asking you to change acts. How would you like it if tomorrow Zachariah wanted you to climb up a rope and swing around on it without a net?” Dean asked him.

Benny looked him straight in the eye. “If they had a rope that would hold me, I'd do it in a heartbeat.” He didn’t detect an ounce of dishonesty in Benny’s voice, and that disturbed him. Benny wasn’t one to lie. Sometimes Dean attributed it to him being married to a woman who could always tell if he was being dishonest, but Benny had been straight with Dean long before he married Pam.

“You're full of it,” Dean told him, hauling a sack over his own shoulder.

Dean waved off Benny’s continued help, hoping to make the chore last. Benny gave him a knowing smile, but he didn’t call Dean out for it. Benny had more tact than that…sometimes.

Dean managed to find things that needed doing all day long, so he never had time to set up the lyra. However, that evening while he was doing his last checks, Castiel stepped into the tent.

“You are a hard man to track down,” he said, walking to the center of the ring. There was only a lantern hanging to give Dean enough light to make sure things were to rights. Castiel's skin seemed to glow in the minimal light though. He looked ethereal standing below the lantern as he watched Dean checking the support beams up above.

Dean had done this, every night, since they had a tent collapse one evening years ago due to a loose connection. It gave him peace of mind even if he trusted the crew to set up the tent well.

“I tend to have a lot to do,” Dean said, keeping his voice low.

“I understand that.” Cas’ tone said he didn’t actually understand it, but he was trying to avoid a fight.

“But?” Dean added for him because he knew it was coming.

“You don't like me very much, do you?” Castiel asked instead.

Dean looked down at him, following the contours of his face with his eyes. He was an attractive man. Dean could see him in movies not just as a circus attraction. He wondered why Castiel didn't try to make the jump. Others had done it.

“I don't care one way or the other about you, Mr. Novak. So long as you leave me alone, I don't mind you one bit,” Dean said, easily balancing as he made his way across the support to another pole.

“And if I don't?” Castiel called.

“I'm not what you're looking for,” Dean told him, wrapping his legs around the beam as he checked the bolts.

“What am I looking for then?”

“Someone who’s going to do what you say. Someone you can mold into your little flying puppet. I've never been one for taking direction, and I certainly don't need a partner,” Dean said, taking the rope attached to the rigging and slowly climbing down.

“Is that why you won't ask me for help rigging the lyra?” Castiel questioned, holding the rope steady for him.

“Who says I need help?”

“The psychic. I had to pay her a dollar before she'd tell me where I could find you. Then she called me an ass for making trouble for you,” Castiel said, crossing his arms as Dean put his feet on solid ground.

“I wish paying her would keep her out of my business,” Dean grumbled. He didn't really mind Pam's help. He didn't even mind her visions about him; she'd had one before Castiel had shown up, a warning about taking risks, but now she seemed to have changed her mind. He'd never understand her or her gift.

“She clearly cares. I'm sorry for not realizing you'd probably never encountered it before. You'd said as much, and I was too focused to realize. My apologies if I was harsh with you. I can show you how it's done now if you have time,” Castiel offered.

Dean shrugged. “Why not?” he said, waving Castiel off to get what was needed.

Dean was sitting in the stands when Castiel returned with the lyra and its equipment. He set it out on the dirt floor as Dean joined him. Castiel showed him how to knot the rope to hold the hoop. It was actually quite simple, and Dean quickly got lost in the movements of Castiel's graceful fingers.

“I met your brother today,” Castiel said as he tested the knot.

“You better not have put any ideas in his head,” Dean said, untying the knot so he could copy it.

“Sam doesn't seem like the type that needs ideas. He has plenty of his own,” Cas said knowingly. Dean could hear the amusement in Castiel’s voice.

“Oh I know it. Boy's got too many of them as it is.” Dean quickly formed the knot, allowing Castiel to test it.

“I wouldn't call him a boy.”

“You would if you raised him,” Dean retorted.

“Maybe I would,” though Castiel didn't sound convinced. “I wasn't trying to pick a fight. I just thought I would tell you he's very talented. I've seen few fire dancers with as much grace as he has. He mentioned your mother as you had. He holds so much respect for her. She must be a great performer.”

“Before she died,” Dean said, sitting back on his heels.

“I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Dean brushed it off, picking up the lyra. “Hold this, I'll climb up and loop it through,” Dean said, taking the end of the rope and going to climb back up.

“The circus is in your blood,” Castiel said as Dean climbed easily. “It's in the way you move up there, it's in the way you check the tent even though you know it's fine. This tent is everything to you. Why won't you let yourself be a part of it?”

“I thought you said you didn't come to fight?” Dean said, looping the rope through the ring they used for the silks.

“I never took direction well either. I am too stubborn.”

“Maybe I'm afraid,” Dean said, sliding back down the rope. “I know what this life can do to you. Maybe I'm afraid of it.” He tried to keep the deep emotions he had about it out of his voice, but he saw the way Castiel picked it up.

Castiel didn't come up with an immediate retort to that. He just watched Dean as he pulled the lyra into the air just a few feet off the ground. Then he knotted it off, so it would hang there. Dean motioned to the slowly turning ring.

“The first time I climbed the silks, I fell as soon as my instructor began to spin me. I broke my arm, so they wrapped it and told me to use my other arm. I've fallen plenty of times. That's why I want you, Dean. You know what it is to fall, and you know how to pick yourself up afterwards even though the world is that much heavier.”

“And how do you know all that? We only met this week.” They were standing too close, gravitating into each other’s space without even realizing it. It wasn’t something he could stop, like the universe was pushing them and there was no escape.

“Like recognizes like. It's in the way you climb, the way you check the tent. It's in your blood, and you're afraid of bleeding out, losing the thing that gives you life. I'm afraid too, Dean, but I can't hide behind bags of feed and finicky engines. I either climb, or it’s all over.”

“If you're afraid, then I suggest you find yourself another hero,” Dean told him, stepping back. He needed space. Castiel was a good talker, and it was late, and Dean's mind was tired. He didn't need Cas planting seeds in his head.

“Maybe I should,” Castiel said, stepping over to the lyra and climbing into the ring. He used his foot to give it a spin.

Dean walked away, looking back over his shoulder to see Cas climbing gracefully in the hoop. It seemed that flying was in Cas' blood, because the man never looked so comfortable as when he was on one of his apparatuses.

Dean rolled over as the sun was coming up, groaning as he rubbed his hand over his face. He'd stayed up half the night thinking about Castiel's words, not wanting to admit that Castiel had a point. He'd been with this troupe for ten years, and they were his family, but he wasn't actually one of them. When they talked about their nights and what they felt, all he could talk about were the calluses he'd gotten hauling ropes or hammering tent spikes.

Dean turned over again, not wanting to get up with the sun for once. However, Sam was awake and bumping around already. “Dean, you sick?” he asked, coming over to look at him.

“'m fine,” Dean mumbled from beneath his thin blanket.

“Then why aren't you up?” Sam asked, knowing Dean was always up by dawn.

“Can't a man sleep in once in a while?” Dean retorted, pushing down his blanket and sitting up. Looked like he wasn't getting anymore sleep.

Sam gave him an odd look, but went back to getting himself ready for the day. “Castiel told me I had real potential yesterday,” Sam said, pulling on his shirt.

“He mentioned that. You told him about Ma,” Dean said, groping around for his own shirt.

“And?”

Dean shrugged. He wasn't about to get into it with his brother. Sam had just as much right to her memory as he did, even if he didn't like Sam telling Cas anything.

“You showing Zachariah your act today?” Dean asked, picked his cup of water off the table and taking a long drink.

“He said he wouldn't be back from a business trip until tomorrow night. So, I'm hoping to show him before the performance tomorrow,” Sam said, sounding excited. As much as Dean discouraged him from becoming one of the performers, he was proud of Sam. He'd watched him practice countless times, and it was nearly as mesmerizing as watching Castiel in the air.

“I'm sure he'll give you a shot,” Dean said, standing up to squeeze past Sam in their cramped trailer.

“You really think so?” Sam asked, looking at Dean in surprise.

“Why wouldn't he? You're good,” Dean told him, trying not to make a big deal out of the praise.

“You usually tell me not to waste my time,” Sam said, skeptically.

“I'm not your father, Sam. If you want this, I can't stop you,” Dean said, opening the door and stepping down out of the trailer. He walked over to the water pump in nothing by his trousers and ducked his had under the spigot. He reached for the handle and pumped cold water out over his head to wake himself up.

Afterward, Dean went back inside and pulled on his shirt and boots. The rest of the camp was starting to wake as he headed over to the stable to check on the animals. Dean was on his third trip to collect water for the troughs by the time the bathing line had begun. Performers stood in line to fill buckets to either heat for tea or to bathe with.

Most of the men simply stood out there much as Dean had, dousing themselves then going about their business. Pamela had a massive claw foot tub that the troupe was allowed to use on special occasions like birthdays, but most everyone showered with a bucket and a sponge. Dean recalled many mornings so cold that he had to break the ice in his bucket because it froze between the pump and his trailer. That was if he could even get water out of the pump.

Dean ignored the numerous naked men, and more than one naked woman, who were scattered around the camp bathing. Some hung linens for privacy, but most simply did what needed doing out in the open. It wasn't as though everyone else wasn't doing the same.

Dean did take a stumbling step as he noticed Castiel standing outside his own trailer, naked as the day he was born. He held a sponge in his hand, bathing his muscular body. Dean couldn't stop himself from giving Castiel a quick once over. His tan skin caught the morning sun, covered in glistening droplets. Dean's mouth went dry as he watched Cas drag the sponge down his chest and torso, over the soft looking trail of hair that descended from his belly button, and all the way down to the curls nestled above his cock.

Dean ducked his head before anyone could catch him looking. He hurried to collect more water, carefully adjusting himself as he bent over to use the pump. He tried to put the image of Cas bathing out of his mind, but as he stood up with the full buckets in hand, Castiel was watching him, still completely naked. His eyes were sharp as he stared at Dean. He didn't seem to care one bit if Dean saw him naked, cock hanging proud between his strong thighs.

Dean looked down again and started back in toward the pen for the animals. He didn't know what to do with Castiel; the man was unlike any other he'd ever met. He was a mystery, but at the same time he seemed to leave everything right out in the open. Blunt was the word for it.

Dean went about his morning chores completely distracted and more than a little bit turned on. It was frustrating. Perhaps it was partly responsible for Dean missing Miss Moore's arrival.

Dean was doing Jody a favor because her prize stallion threw a shoe the night before, so they had to re-shoe him. Dean and Jody had him out back, so he wouldn't get the others fussing because he was a bit of a drama queen. Dean checked the hoof for any damage as Jody stood by the horse's nose whispering sweet nothings to him.

They'd done this dozens of times, and it didn't take much time at all to size the shoe, cool it, and nail it in place. Tristan was trotting around like a prince again in no time.

As Dean led the stallion back to his stall, he noticed Meg hanging around the far end of the stalls. Dean didn't think much of it; she often kept her animals with the horses, because it tended to be warmer in here with the larger beasts than in the drafty carts.

Dean got Tristan into his stall, but the horse didn't settle in easily. “Come on, boy, be good. I've got things that need doing,” he tried to coax the horse, but it continued to hoof at the soft hay Dean had spread out for him.

Dean ended up checking the stall, the hay, the water for anything that might be upsetting the horse, but when he came up with nothing he gave the large animal one last pat before leaving him to his tantrum. Tristan tended to settle down on his own.

When he stepped out of the stall, Gabriel had joined Meg, and they were getting cozy against several crates. Dean shook his head, stepping into the tent to see if Castiel needed anything adjusted like he had every other day.

Castiel was sitting in the stands watching Charlie practice her act. He had a smile on his face as she did a spin, moving the staff to create a fantastic fire trail in the air.

“I see why Sam wanted to learn. She is quite mesmerizing,” Castiel said as Dean sat down beside him.

“Charlie is...Charlie is amazing at everything she puts her mind to. She started out by helping Ash with the lights and sound. Then one day she decided to create her own act, lit a few torches and demanded to be a part of the show. Zach didn't know what hit him. She didn't actually have the correct equipment for two years,” Dean said, clapping as she did a flip, landing in a roll and trading the staff for juggling batons. She lit them in the center flame before quickly beginning to juggle them.

“She doesn't hesitate,” Castiel noted, keeping a close eye on how she moved fluidly from one trick to the next.

“No, she's the best there is. Several shows have tried to steal her, but she's loyal to us,” Dean said, smiling as Charlie caught the last baton and took a bow. “Do you need anything set up?” Dean asked as Charlie cleaned up her act to continue practicing outside.

“Perhaps—”

“Dean, come quick,” Jo called, running into the tent with Ash hot on her heels. Both of them looked out of breath and scared, and Dean was out of his seat in a heartbeat, running after them as they exited just as quickly. Castiel followed along with half of the people within earshot of their calls.

Dean ran back into the stable to see Sam standing in the aisle, holding his shirt and pants over his crotch as Miss Moore was dragged out of the stable by her uncle. Dean felt his blood run cold as Zachariah marched her right out of the stable with her blouse half done up and her skirt caught in her pantyhose. She must have been humiliated, not that any of the troupe would judge her for it. They’d all been in that situation more than once.

“What have you done?” Dean asked as he stalked toward his brother.

“Dean,” Castiel said, touching his arm gently, but Dean pulled away from him. He felt the need to punch something, and for once Castiel didn't deserve it.

“He isn't supposed...Meg was on watch...” Sam looked around him as a crowd began to gather. He scanned the crowd frantically, but Meg and Gabriel were missing.

“The damn trickster,” Dean cursed.

“Dean, Gabriel had nothing to do with this,” Jo told him, but Dean shook his head. Gabriel had _everything_ to do with this. Dean didn't know his game, but this had Gabriel written all over it.

“Put your damn clothes on,” Dean said, marching past his brother. Benny and Castiel hot on his heels.

“What do you plan to do?” Benny asked. Dean didn’t actually know when Benny had shown up, but it was always good to have the burly man at his back.

“Who was that young woman? Castiel inquired, trying to keep up with Dean and Benny's wide strides.

“Miss Moore. Zachariah's niece. She's in his care while she attends the nurse's college in Lawrence,” Dean said, walking toward Michael's trailer where Zachariah would be hiding.

He could hear the yelling from across the grounds. The man was known for his temper. Dean had always done his best to avoid the man when he was in a rage, but it seemed he didn't have that courtesy today.

He walked up to the door and knocked. Benny stood behind him muttering about stupid things to be doing, and Castiel watched quietly beside him.

“You!” Zachariah sneered as he practically tore the door off its hinges. “He's soiled her! He had the audacity to put his filthy hands on my niece,” he shouted for the world to hear.

Dean could see Miss Moore sitting in one of Michael's wobbly chairs sobbing as she tried to put herself to rights. Dean felt for her; he didn't think what they'd been doing was right, but she was twenty-four just as Sam was. She wasn't a child, and she did seem to care for his brother. They'd just been foolish to think it was possible.

“I want the pair of you off my property before show time, or I'll call the authorities. I'll have that brother of yours locked up for what he's done to her,” Zachariah threatened.

“Please,” Dean said. He'd never been much good at negotiating. He could talk himself out of trouble, and he could sell a line of bullshit, but when the cards were all in Zach's hands it was hard to make a play. “You need me. I keep this show running,” Dean argued, hands out to placate.

Zachariah didn't look soothed at all. “You think I need you? I could hire ten of you on any corner in town. People need work, Dean, they don't care what it is, and they won't seduce my family while they're at it.

Dean took a breath, trying not to fly into a rage himself. Sam had gotten himself into this. He could defend himself if they were kept on, but right now any defense of his brother wouldn't go over well.

“I understand that what Sam did was wrong, but we've been with you for ten years. We've weathered the—”

“I don't care what you've done. You're just a rigger. Get out before I change my mind and call the police anyway,” Zachariah shouted.

Dean opened and closed his mouth, but before he could come up with anything else to say Castiel spoke. “You can't fire him. I need him for my act,” Castiel said confidently.

Dean, and everyone else, turned to look at him in surprise. Dean had forgotten he'd followed him, but Castiel didn't even glance his was as he looked steadily up at Zachariah, who was practically pouring smoke from his ears.

“I what?” he asked in disbelief. Dean didn’t think anyone had ever told him what he could or couldn’t do before. The man’s own mother probably never even had that power.

“You can't send him on his way, or I'll have to leave as well. He's to be my partner,” Castiel said, standing up straight and looking completely at ease, even in nothing but tights and suspenders.

“Find another partner. Dean doesn't even perform,” Zachariah insisted, though he sounded thrown off.

“I can't. He's the only one that can do it,” Castiel said, undeterred by Zachariah's determination to see Dean and Sam fired.

“You _cannot_ be serious.”

“You said that if I came here, I would be free to put together an act as I saw fit. Dean is who I need,” Castiel said sharply, staring Zachariah down as though he'd faced far worse than Zach could ever dream of being. Zachariah looked at him with equal contempt, but when Cas didn't back down the way everyone else did, he caved.

“I don't want to see you or that brother of yours unless you're performing and making me money. If I so much as see Sam around these grounds, I will skin him and give the rug to Meg,” Zachariah threatened.

Dean nodded numbly, stepping back as Zachariah slammed the door in his face and began yelling at his niece again. Dean would’ve liked to stand up for her, but he couldn’t even stand up for himself at the moment. Instead, he turned and looked at Castiel. Even Benny looked impressed behind Castiel's shoulder.

“Why did you stick your neck out for me?” he asked.

“Because this is your home,” Castiel answered.

“You could've been fired too. He's done crazier things,” Dean said, running his hand through his hair.

“You're worth the risk.” He wasn’t being sentimental or kind. He said it so matter of fact that Dean almost believed him.

“You don't even know if I can do this. Hell, it takes people years to learn to do this!”

“I have faith in you,” Castiel told him.

“I don't,” Dean admitted, shoulders hunching.

Castiel smiled at him. “I think you should probably talk to Sam,” Castiel said.

“I should probably castrate him like the other animals before Zachariah does it himself,” Dean muttered, walking back toward the stable.

“He's young and in love...”

“With Zachariah's niece, who is going to become a nurse and forget all about him when she marries the doctor her parents set her up with,” Dean cut him off. “That is how this ends. Men like me and him, we don't get girls like her. If we're real lucky we end up like Benny and fall in love with a woman in the life. If we aren't, we have to make a choice like my mother did, and in the end no one is happy,” Dean said bitterly.

Sam was sitting on one of the crates that Dean had seen Meg against when he came back in. He was fully clothed now, and Meg had joined the group that had formed.

“Dean, I'm sorry...”  
“Get your ass back to the trailer before Zachariah sees you,” Dean said, leaving no room for argument. “You,” he said, pointing at Meg. “Where the hell were you?”

“Gabriel told me it was important. Said that my viper was acting sick,” she told him. “He said he'd keep watch.”

“He didn't lure you away with another promise?” Dean asked, remembering what he'd seen.

“No, I wouldn't fuck that snake in the grass if it got me top billing,” she said, sounding appalled.

Dean cursed, pulling his brother off the crate and back to the trailer. “Gabriel has it out for us,” Dean grumbled, dragging Sam along much as Zachariah had with Jessica.

“Dean...”

“Don't, Sam.”

When they were alone in their trailer, Dean opened the ice chest and removed a beer. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration and finally just collapsed onto his bed.

“I don't even know what to say, Sam. You've ruined her name if this gets out. They could expel her from the nursing school for this. She shouldn't even have been off the grounds,” Dean said, looking down at his hands.

“I love her, Dean. We're going to get married. She said yes. We'll leave together...”

“You think Zachariah is going to let her out of his sight after this? And with what money do you plan to elope? Going to run back to dad?” Dean asked, not knowing how to handle this. Sam had always been a good kid. Dean had thought he'd gotten off the hook as far as rebelliousness went. Clearly, he'd been mistaken.

“I love her, Dean. What am I supposed to do?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed. He was too young for this. This should have been their father's job. “You keep your head low, Sam. Stay in the trailer. Zachariah's threatened to call the authorities if he sees you,” Dean said, smothering his anger. It was no use saying 'I told you so' since he could have put an end to it himself and didn't.

“And what about you?” Sam asked.

“Castiel...he vouched for me. Looks like I'll be learning how to fly, Sammy,” Dean said. He felt exhausted just thinking about it all.

“But you don't want to perform. It isn't fair...”

“Life's not fair, Sam. But this is the best shot we've got right now, and I'm not about to turn down a man who stuck his neck out for me.” Dean was a lot of things, but he wasn’t the kind of man that threw that kind of favor in someone’s face, even if he didn’t care for them much.

Sam went quiet, studying Dean long and hard. “The circus didn't kill mom, Dean. A slippery road on a stormy night did. Performing isn't going bring about some family curse,” Sam said.

Dean waved him off, but he couldn't deny that that was at least partially true. “I know, Sam. Just keep your head down at least until we move onto the next city,” Dean said, lying down on his cot and ignoring his duties for the afternoon. He never should've gotten up this morning.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean woke to a pounding on the trailer door. Sam was sitting at their tiny table reading by candlelight. He looked up at Dean with wide eyes, clearly thinking that Zachariah had come for him. Or worse, the authorities.

“Who's out there?” Dean called, checking his pocket watch. It was nearly eleven at night. The show should have ended hours ago.

“Castiel,” he said quietly from the other side of the door.

Dean and Sam looked at each other and shrugged. Sam went and opened the door while Dean pulled his shirt on. Castiel stepped up the ladder into their trailer, wearing trousers and a button up, though his sleeves were rolled up his forearms and his suspenders were hanging about his legs.

“Can we help you?” Dean asked, trying to clear his head. He'd slept most of the evening away when he realized the tension was mounting in their tiny trailer.

“I thought we might practice tonight,” Castiel said, looking around their home. They'd lived in it for ten years, and it bore the wear of a home. They'd carved their initials into it when they realized that it was actually theirs. It had seen them through celebration and hardships. They'd really grown up in it, even if they were already mostly grown by the time they got it.

“Of course,” Dean said, remembering the deal. He had to perform with Castiel or they were out of here. Somehow, this didn't seem like the hardship he'd originally seen Castiel's offers as.

“I can wait for you in the tent,” Castiel offered, but Dean waved.

“No, I'm coming. Just let me put my head under the pump and take a piss, and I'll be your man,” Dean said, standing to follow Cas out of the trailer. “Stay put,” he said to Sam before stepping outside.

“How is he taking it?” Castiel asked as Dean pissed in a bucket beside their trailer. He didn't even turn his back for Dean, not that he was watching him either.

“He's still young. He doesn't realize that love doesn't always mean a happy ending,” Dean said, tucking himself back in and turning to head to the water pump.

“That is not a mark against him,” Cas said, hands deep in the pockets of his pants.

“No, I suppose it isn't, but it got him into enough trouble,” Dean said before putting his head under the spigot for the second time that day.

“Maybe they will have a happy ending after all. There is always hope,” Castiel said.

“What world are you living in?” Dean asked, rolling up his own sleeves as they walked through the quiet camp. No one was out celebrating tonight. The mood among the performers was subdued after what had happened to Sam.

“Even the Greeks believed in hope, Dean. Pandora? The box still contained hope even when all the ills were released into the world,” Castiel said, holding open the flap for Dean.

Dean was a little surprised that the tent was lit with lanterns already. It wasn't a lot of light, but it was enough for them to work by. Castiel was already unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward the center ring, pulling it off and dropping it as he walked, followed by his shoes and trousers. He was left in just a pair of tights as he entered the ring.

Dean followed him, watching his movements. Castiel was graceful on the ground as well, but nothing compared to him in the air. He stood under the silks and waited for Dean, watching him approach.

“You aren't going to remove your clothes?” he asked Dean, giving him a once over.

“I don't do tights,” Dean said, crossing his arms.

Castiel smirked. “I don't mind you working naked, but this is a family show,” Castiel retorted, giving Dean a very understated smile.

Dean rolled his eyes, pulling his suspenders off his shoulders and unbuttoning his pants. He pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his boots until he stood before Castiel in nothing by his boxers. “Is this better?” he asked, arms out to motion to himself.

“I suppose it will work. Have you ever climbed the silks?” Cas asked.

Dean bit his tongue for a moment. He remembered their last aerialist—she'd only been a year or so older than Dean. They'd had a few drinks and ended up having sex in the tent after a show. When they were finished, she'd talked him into putting on the barely-there leotard she wore to perform, and she showed him how to climb the silks.

She'd quietly cheered for him as he fooled around up there. It hadn't been nearly as humiliating as he thought it would be. He even could admit to himself that he'd enjoyed wearing her sparkly leotard. It had been exhilarating.

“I've climbed them once,” Dean admitted to Castiel, pushing his past with Miss Hurley out of his mind. She'd left for a bigger circus only months after their tryst.

“Care to show me?” Castiel asked, holding the silks apart.

Dean shrugged, stepping up to the thick ribbons. He remembered what she'd told him that night and what he'd seen Cas do when practicing. He easily pulled himself up, climbing about a yard off the ground.

“Not bad,” Castiel told him. “Your arms are important, but your legs must look elegant as well. Pointed toes, keep them at attractive angles if you aren't using them to climb,” he instructed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, never having had to worry about that when he climbed the rigging.

Castiel smiled up at him. “Come down, and I will show you.”

Dean did as he was told, and Castiel quickly stepped up to the silks. “Toes pointed,” he said as he rose to the balls of his feet, lifting one leg to wrap around the silks. He almost used it as a step as he pulled himself into the air. Dean focused on his legs as he climbed. Castiel's toes remained pointed the whole time as he moved his legs to demonstrate different positions. He had them both parallel to the floor, then one straight down and the other crooked in the silks. “They do not just hang. Your entire body is part of every performance,” Castiel told him as he climbed back down with grace.

Dean tried again. He didn't like pointing his feet. It felt unnatural to have to focus on it, and his legs didn't seem very elegant as the flailed to keep his balance when he tried to do as Castiel did.

“This isn't working,” Dean said as he tried, for the fourth time, to just climb the silks correctly.

“It takes practice, Dean. I wasn't born capable of what I do. I told you that I broke my wrist the first time I climbed the silks,” Castiel encouraged him as Dean wobbled about.

“I'm not made to be graceful, Cas,” Dean insisted as he set foot on the ground again.

Castiel paused for a moment, and Dean wasn't sure if he'd said something wrong. “Dean, would you make love to a woman the way you're climbing the silks?” Castiel asked him, sounding completely serious.

“What?” Dean asked, not following the logic of Cas' question.

“When you make love to a woman, what is it like? Do you fumble your way around her, push in and heave over her until you reach completion then fall over and begin to snore? Or do you caress her, kiss her sweetly as you pleasure her body? Do you ease into her gently, so that she feels every ounce of pleasure you do? Do you want for her to find her completion before you find your own?”

“What?” Dean repeated. “Of course, I'm good to her.”

“The silks are like a woman. You cannot approach them and force yourself upon them with little poise and expect it to be a masterful performance. Don't force this. Be gentle,” Castiel explained.

Dean didn't think he really understood what Cas was saying, but he loosened his grip a little and wrapped the silk around his leg lightly. He focused on not being rough with it as he climbed, and when he got halfway up Castiel gave him a small nod.

“It is not perfect, but we can work with it,” he said as Dean came back down.

“What else am I going to learn?” Dean asked, expecting Castiel to teach him some actual maneuvers and tricks, but Castiel shook his head.

“Tonight, you are just going to climb. I cannot teach you anything else if you cannot climb properly,” he said, taking the silks in hand and climbing with more grace than Dean could ever hope to possess.

“Just climbing? I've been climbing for ten years.”

“So, we have ten years of lazy climbing to undo,” Castiel tsked as he came back down.

“You can't be serious,” Dean said as Castiel held the silks out to him.

“I assure you, I take this very seriously, Dean,” Castiel told him, motioning for him to climb.

Dean groaned, but he climbed again. He listened to every one of Castiel's criticisms, and then he did it again.

Dean’s arms ached and quivered as he pulled himself up the silks for what had to be the fiftieth time. He was covered in sweat, and he felt as though his next grip would be the one that sent him tumbling to the ground in a heap.

“No! Toes pointed. Climb like you are making love to the silk or come back down,” Castiel chastised him. Dean groaned, grimacing as he focused on pointing his toes and climbing the way Castiel had. “No, you cannot frown as you perform. You must always wear a smile, even if it hurts. The audience can never know how hard it is,” Castiel called again.

Dean forced himself to smile, though he doubted that it actually looked pleasant at all. Castiel didn’t tell him to correct it further, so he assumed he was going easy on him. Dean didn’t like the idea of being gone easy on, but he honestly didn’t feel like he could fake a smile when his arms felt like they were on fire.

“Stay,” Castiel commanded when Dean reached the midpoint again. It had taken much longer to climb this time, and Dean wasn’t sure how Castiel did this so gracefully for hours of practice. Dean was by no means out of shape, but here he was after less than an hour feeling like he was at death’s doorstep.

Dean clung to the silks, glancing down to see Castiel grip them at the bottom. He climbed up to Dean in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t that far to climb, but it had taken Dean twice that long, and somehow Castiel remembered to point his damn toes _and_ look graceful.

“Use the silk. Wrap it around your foot for support to take weight off your arms,” Castiel said, doing just that, before taking the silk by Dean’s right leg and doing it for him. Dean had done this with the ropes before, but he felt hopelessly tangled at this point and was grateful for Castiel's help. “Now, transfer yourself just to the silk you have around your foot, so I may climb up to you,” were Castiel's next set of instructions.

“I thought you said that we were only climbing today,” Dean wheezed as he tried to release the other silk without falling.

“We are, but part of climbing is knowing how to distribute your weight,” Castiel told him, easily bringing himself up alongside Dean.

Dean hated him just a little for this. He was grateful to Cas for saving his job and home, but this was a strange form of torture. He wished he could just wing it like he’d done with apprenticing for Bobby.

“You’re too tense,” Castiel said, releasing the silks from his hands and just using his legs to keep himself up. Dean almost cried just at the sight of it as Castiel reached forward and touched his shoulders, which were in fact very tense.

“I’ve been climbing for an hour. My aches have aches. If I’m not tense, I’ll be on the floor,” Dean told him.

Castiel smiled at him. “Then fall. There is no shame it that, but learning bad habits from the start will only make it harder later on.”

Dean just stared at him. He was serious. There wasn’t a hint of deceit in his features as he watched Dean steadily.

“You can’t be serious…”

“I’ve already told you that I am quite serious. Now, release the tension from your shoulders, and if you fall, you fall. You will just climb up again,” Castiel told him.

It wasn’t that simple to Dean. He didn’t like failure, and he liked humiliation even less, although Castiel didn’t seem like he’d think any less of him for falling. He bit his lip, then quickly tried to force a smile as he focused on releasing the tension in his shoulders and using his leg more to hold himself up.

He felt his shoulders ease, and he was stable, using his legs to keep him balanced and hold the rope. He released the breath he’d been holding, and that sent him wobbling. He tried to hold tight to the rope again, but he went tumbling, leg catching as he went.

Castiel’s strong arms caught him at the last moment, steadying him and helping him get his grip back. He gave Dean a serious look, and Dean thought he was truly mad at him for failing to stay balanced.

“You may climb down,” he said, holding Dean’s silk steady.

Dean wanted to say something, to apologize for not being better at this. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to impress Castiel until he’d climbed up the silks, but now it seemed like the most important thing to show Castiel that he was serious, and he wanted this.

“I can do better. I’ll try again,” Dean said, but Castiel shook his head.

“You are tired,” Castiel whispered, leaning into Dean’s space, not that there was any such thing as personal space in the silks with another person. As Castiel said it, Dean felt like his whole body realized just how tired it was, and his arms began to shake even harder.

Dean opened his mouth again, but Castiel put his hand on his shoulder. “You did well. Let your body rest,” he said, massaging the tense muscle. It was like trying to massage a rock, but it still felt good, and Dean couldn’t contain his groan. “You will be very sore in the morning,” Castiel told him as he guided Dean down the silks.

Dean didn’t even realize he was following Castiel’s lead until his feet touched the floor. He released the silks, and it was as though his strings had been cut; he collapsed to the ground, sitting there looking up at Castiel because he couldn’t figure out why his legs weren’t supporting him.

“Just because you aren’t standing on them, doesn’t mean you aren’t straining them,” Cas said, taking a seat beside him. “What did you learn?” he asked, reaching forward to massage Dean’s biceps. They still felt like they were on fire, but Castiel’s touch was pleasant.

“I’m not very good at this,” Dean told him, feeling down about his lack of abilities.

“No one is good when they begin. I meant about falling,” Castiel corrected him.

“I’ll fall if I’m not tense?”

Castiel shook his head, giving Dean one of his understated smiles. “Did I let you fall?” he asked, moving his hands down to massage Dean’s forearms.

“No.”

“If I am performing with you, I’ll never let you fall. The key is trusting that I will catch you, because if you are afraid of falling, you will never be able to fly,” Castiel explained.

“What about when I’m up there alone?” Dean asked, leaning into Castiel’s touch without realizing it. The man seemed to have his own gravitational pull, more than anyone Dean had ever met. Usually Dean valued his personal space, but Castiel sucked him in and their space seemed to blend together.

“I won’t leave you alone up there until you can catch yourself,” Castiel promised, squeezing his wrists before letting go of Dean completely. “Come, you need to cool down before you rest, or you will cramp.”

Dean let Castiel help him stretch his legs out and reach for them. It was painful, but Castiel seemed to know just the right places to touch and massage. He hardly took his hands off Dean as he guided Dean to his back. He held Dean’s leg as he pushed it up into the air and stretched it, using his own body weight to stretch the leg further.

Dean looked up at him from his back, and Castiel watched him with intense eyes. “What are you feeling?” he asked when Dean gasped.

“Pain,” Dean admitted. He’d never stretched his leg that far in his life, and he was pretty sure he’d never walk again if Castiel pushed him any further.

“Aches are good. They mean that you’ve gone further than you have before,” he said, easing Dean’s left leg down and switching to his right. Dean didn’t fight the groan he made as Castiel slowly brought his right leg up. He released another gasp as Castiel used his strong fingers to manipulate the quivering muscle in his thigh. It was painful, but it also felt good. Dean felt a little high from the mingling sensations.

“Your body is strong. It will heal fast,” Castiel told him once he’d gotten Dean’s leg just as high as the first one. “Come back to my trailer with me,” he said as he lowered Dean’s leg and helped him sit up again.

Dean’s mind raced. Was he coming onto him? This whole thing had played a little too intimate. Dean didn’t know what to say. Castiel was incredible to watch, but he couldn’t. They nearly been thrown out once today, and now Castiel was trying to take advantage. He held Dean’s life in his hands.

Dean felt himself getting angry, and he pulled away from Castiel as he went to stand. He staggered, his legs still not steady, and Castiel caught him around the waist.

“I want to work on your arms. You’ll be more comfortable in the trailer than on the ground,” Castiel told him, seemingly reading his confused thoughts.

Dean went to speak, but he came up short. Instead, he allowed Castiel to help him dress then guide him back to his trailer. Dean felt drunk as they walked, but the longer he was on his feet the more they seemed to remember what their purpose was. They still ached, but by the time they reached the steps of Castiel’s trailer, he could walk steadily on his own.

Castiel opened the door and walked in, pointing Dean to the cot against the back wall. Dean didn’t say anything as he dropped his shirt on the floor and laid on the bed.

Castiel didn’t come over to him immediately, instead puttering around his room, collecting jars from his cabinets and mixing something that smelled awful. He brought it over to Dean, and Dean wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent.

“I better not have to drink that,” Dean told him, remembering his grandmother’s remedies as a child.

Castiel chuckled softly. “No, it’s for your muscles,” he said, dipping his hands into the mixture and warming it in his palms before bringing it to Dean’s aching shoulders.

The sensation was cool at first, but as Castiel worked it into the muscles, it became pleasantly warm. Dean sighed, finally feeling the tension in his body begin to ease. Castiel was very proficient at massaging the stress out, and Dean found his mind relaxing as well.

“Tomorrow we will work on the floor, stretching your body and extending your flexibility. We may not climb tomorrow if you need time to heal,” he explained as he worked toward Dean’s lower back.

Dean nodded along, feeling himself become drowsy. Castiel continued to speak softly to him about what he planned, but Dean stopped understanding it as he fell asleep.

Dean woke as he was gently shaken. He startled, striking out, but Castiel easily dodged his uncoordinated move.

“I am finished,” Castiel said softly, once again well within Dean’s personal space. “You fell asleep,” he said as Dean looked up at him dumbly.

“Oh. Shit, sorry,” Dean said, but Castiel waved it off, placing his warm hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“No worries. It is good that you rest, and it is easier to work when you aren’t tensing,” Castiel assured him.

“I should get going,” Dean said, realizing that Castiel was still in just his tights. The lamp light caught the planes of his body. The light seemed to love Castiel, highlighting his best features. Dean’s mouth was dry as he tried to form the words to bid Castiel a good evening; he'd never felt this unbalanced by another man before.

“You should sleep at least until nine tomorrow,” Castiel told him as he sat up, reaching for his shirt on the floor.

“I’ve got work to do,” Dean laughed. He hadn’t gotten up after six in the last eight years. He wasn’t about to start slacking off now.

“The others are capable of doing their own chores. The horses are Jody’s, she will care for them. The animals are Meg’s, she will care for them. It is their duty to care for them. It is yours to rest, so you may heal,” Castiel told him, leaving no room for argument.

“You tell that to Meg. I don’t think she’s woken up before nine in all the time I’ve known her,” Dean told him.

“I will handle her,” Castiel promised, opening the door for Dean.

Dean had to step into Cas’ space to get out the door, and as he did, Castiel gave him a pleased smile. For a second, Dean thought he was going to lean in and kiss him, but Castiel patted him on the shoulder instead.

“You did well tonight. I know I’ve made the right choice,” he said.

“We’ll see,” Dean replied, shaking his head to rid it of silly thoughts. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas,” he said, stepping down out of the trailer and walking back to his own.

Sam was still sitting up reading by candlelight when Dean opened the door. His body actually felt loose and good after Castiel’s massage. He smiled to himself as he pulled off his shirt and walked to his bed.

“How did it go?” Sam asked, putting down his book. He looked eager to hear all about what Dean had learned, and Dean felt a little foolish for only having climbed up and down the silks.

“Um, he hasn’t given up on me yet,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d never done well with being the one in the spotlight. Sam was the talent. Sam was the genius. Dean was great with his hands, but he preferred to be under the hood of a car than in the spotlight.

“What’d you learn?” Sam pushed.

“To climb a rope, Sam. It isn’t all that glamorous. Not everyone masters things the first time they try it like you do,” Dean snapped, not really understanding his own frustrations. Castiel had been pleased with what he’d accomplished. Why couldn’t he be pleased with himself?

“I’m sure you did well,” Sam insisted, not put off by his brother’s mood. He was used to them by now.

“Yeah, let’s hope I did, or we’ll be out on our asses,” Dean said, dropping his pants and climbing into bed.

He laid awake for a long time thinking about Castiel, and what he'd said during their practice. Dean wanted to get this right.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke around dawn, but as he went to stretched his whole body ached even more than it had the night before. He groaned, rolling over and burrowing down into his covers.

He fell asleep again until Sam gave him a gentle shove. “Dean, Castiel's here to see you, and he brought us breakfast,” Sam said, pushing Dean harder.

Dean bit his lip as he sat up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes before looking at Castiel who was standing just inside the doorway.

“I see you actually listened,” Cas said, nodding at how Dean was still in bed.

“Didn't have much choice. I feel like I was stampeded by the elephants,” Dean said, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He needed a stiff drink. That might be the only thing that could take the edge off. Dean staggered over to his duffel in search of just that, but Castiel snatched the bottle right out of his hand as he lifted it up.

“I'm afraid alcohol is out of the question,” he said, giving Dean a stern look.

“You did this to me, and now you're telling me I'm not allowed my only way of coping?” Dean asked, trying to reach for the flask, but Castiel held it out of reach. Dean stepped closer to him, trying one last time, but Castiel arched back as Dean got into his space.

They stood their glaring at each other for several seconds before Sam cleared his throat loudly. They both looked at him as though he'd interrupted their battle of wills.

“Maybe you should sit down for breakfast,” Sam said, awkwardly looking between them as they were practically on top of one another.

Dean pulled himself back, stepping around Castiel to take the only other chair in the trailer. Castiel just shook his head as Dean helped himself to the porridge he'd brought them.

“Do not eat too much. We will be practicing with the dancers today,” Castiel told him, standing rigidly beside them. Dean almost helped himself to seconds just to be spiteful for the flask, but he had no desire to lose his breakfast all over the ballerinas. “I also brought you these,” Castel said, holding up a pair of tiny looking tights.

“I don't do tights,” Dean repeated himself from last night.

“Well, you can't dance with the girls naked. It would be a scandal,” Castiel informed him.

“Those aren't going to fit me,” Dean said, between mouthfuls of breakfast.

“They fit me. I recognize you are slightly taller than myself, but I promise they stretch to accommodate,” Castiel assured him, holding them out and stretching the material.

“They won't fit,” Dean insisted.

“Just try them.”

Dean gave Cas a withering look and stood. He pulled down his trousers and snatched the tights from Cas. As he went to pull them up his legs, Castiel cleared his throat.

“They are worn without undergarments,” he said, looking pointedly at Dean's boxers.

Dean gave him a challenging look, dropping his boxers without warning. Castiel's eyes went wide, as he clearly hadn't been expecting Dean to just disrobe right in front of him. Sam spat his mouthful of porridge across the table, laughing as Dean stood there with his hands on his hips and his cock on display.

Castiel failed to drag his eyes away quick enough, and Dean gave him a smirk. Dean knew he was big. He wasn't Benny big, but he was impressive, especially if you weren't expecting it.

Dean bent to drag the tights up his bare legs and over his crotch, making sure to make a show of adjusting himself, and Castiel's cheeks were flushed by the time Dean had them on correctly.

Dean looked down at the prominent bulge in his tights, then up at Cas. “Like I said, I don't do tights.”

Castiel seemed to pull himself together quickly, looking up into Dean's eyes again. “Might I suggest a cold bath before we practice if you're worried about your small problem,” Castiel said, emphasizing the 'small'.

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam's laughter was too loud to get a retort in. Dean glared at his brother, pointing at him. “This is your fault,” he said, stalking out of the trailer.

Sam only laughed harder.

Dean got more than a few whistles as he walked across the camp to the tent where the dancers were practicing. The loudest of which was Benny's, though Pamela and Jo's were the most enthusiastic. Dean ducked his head, trying to ignore them, but Castiel wouldn't let it go.

“They like you very much,” he noted as they passed yet another group of cat-callers.

“Is that what you think this means?” Dean asked, flipping off Gabriel who was making all sorts of lewd comments about Dean's package.

“No, I understand that they are teasing you, but they wouldn't do so if you were not one of them. They did not whistle at me when I came to my first rehearsal. I have yet to even receive a compliment from one of them,” Castiel said.

“That's because you intimidate them, and you're favored by the management. It's all politics.”

“It is more than that. I have been to many circuses. If they like you, they tease you. If they dislike you, they leave dead rats in your bed and trailer; and if they really dislike you, they leave live ones,” Castiel said, giving Dean a sidelong look.

“Did you ever receive live rats?” Dean asked, forgetting about the fact that he was walking around in tights that left nothing to the imagination.

“How do you know I received dead ones?” Castiel asked.

Dean smirked. “I saw Gabriel collecting them from Misty two days ago,” Dean said.

“I see,” Castiel said, not sounding very angry about it. “Only once. I am not certain it was meant to be alive. Perhaps it was playing dead, so they would leave it alone. He was eating my leftover porridge when I returned,” he admitted.

“What did you do?”

“I kept him,” Castiel said, sounding confused, as to there being another possible answer to that question.

“You kept the rat?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Of course. They are quite interesting creatures and very intelligent,” Castiel informed him.

“You are something else.” Dean shook his head as they stepped beneath the big top. The noise was loud this morning as the acts practiced their routines for the last time before traveling for several days. Dean looked over to where the dancers were warming up individually.

They twirled and jumped and stretched. Dean shook his head as he turned back to Cas. “I am not doing any of that. I'll tear these if I try that jumping split thing,” Dean told him.

Castiel rolled his eyes, looking completely put upon by Dean's constant protests this morning. “You must see the basics. You must learn the positions. They are the same on the ground as in the air, as on horseback. You learn this first, then you learn to adapt it to our act,” Castiel told him.

Dean gave him a dry look. “I've seen them dance, Cas. Milly's doing a pirouette. Jane's practicing her ciseaux jumps because she gets her timing mixed up at least one show a week. Ana is in second arabesque. I've been here ten years, I know my own circus,” Dean told him, pointing to each woman in turn.

Castiel's face was neutral at he looked at Dean, but Dean could tell his was surprised. Dean certainly didn't advertise that he'd studied every act they had in his time with the show; he'd sit up in the rigging and tent supports for hours watching the performers practice when he didn't have a list of things that needed seeing to. He took notes and drew sketches of equipment that would better suit the performers' needs, although, he'd never showed them to anyone. They wouldn't be interested in his fascination, but Dean loved doing it. It made him feel like a part of the show, even if he wasn't and no one would ever see his inventions.

In fact, the only reason Dean knew relatively little about aerial acts was because they hadn't had another aerialist travel with them since Rhonda Hurley left them for New York City.

“That is convenient, but you must be able to execute them, not just name them,” Castiel said, studying Dean as he continued to watch the dancers begin to get into formation. He didn't say anything or move for several seconds, so Dean knew he was trying to think, but Dean didn't know what about. “Come,” Castiel said, turning and walking out of the tent.

Dean frowned, but he followed close behind him. “Where are we going?” he asked as Castiel strode across the fairgrounds.

“To practice,” Castiel said, leading them away from the activity of the camp; past the corral they kept the horses in, and past the fairgrounds out into the empty field Dean used to watch the stars.

“Why are we all the way out here?” Dean asked, looking around at all of the open space, as well as the mud that still hadn't dried from days of rain.

“Because you do not like to be watched,” Castiel told him simply as he began to stretch, his slippered feet already becoming filthy from the mud.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, cringing at the way the mud squished beneath his tights, wetting the bottoms of them.

“Last night, when it was just us, you were not afraid to do what I asked. You worked hard. When I talk about performing in front of anyone, or we are physically in front of anyone, you are argumentative and negative. So, out here, it is just the two of us, and I expect you to show me the man you were last night,” Castiel explained, straightening up and bringing his legs to first position.

“You're full of shit,” Dean told him.

“If I were, we wouldn't be out here full of mud,” Castiel retorted.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he mimicked Cas' position. It was bad enough that Cas put him in tights, but now he was in muddy tights. If Cas was wondering about Dean's mood, he could have looked no further than the seriously awkward leg wear, or so Dean tried to tell himself.

“Let's just get this over with,” Dean said, motioning from Cas to get moving.

Castiel didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he took several moments to focus his breathing. Dean just watched him. He wasn't one for breathing exercises. He was either focused or he wasn't, no amount of fancy breathing was going to change that.

When Castiel did move, Dean followed his movements and tried to execute them with precision.

Castiel dipped into a plie, bending his knees only far enough to lower his torso but not enough to lift his heels off the ground. Dean did the same, moving his arms up as though he was holding a barrel. He'd seen the dancers do this a thousand times, and he'd even done it himself in the quiet of the tent after hours when it was only him there.

“Your hands should be just as graceful as your legs last night. Loosen them. You are not a statue,” Castiel said as he easily moved his feet apart into second position.

Dean bit his tongue and tried to somehow loosen his fingers, which he hadn't realized were anything other than fingers until Castiel had opened his mouth.

Castiel dipped again, bringing his arms up. As he rose again, he brought his right leg in behind his left heel to third position. “Toes pointing in opposite directions. Parallel not perpendicular,” Castiel said, stepping forward and bending to adjust Dean's feet.

Dean wobbled as Castiel moved his feet, but he reached out and grabbed Castiel's shoulders before he could fall.

“My feet don't do that,” Dean protested, feeling the aches from last night make themselves known.

“They will if you teach them to,” Castiel said, reaching up to grip Dean's hips and straighten them as he tried to twist to accommodate the position he was in. “Shortcuts only promote laziness,” he corrected. “Hips facing front, toes facing the sides, and your behind tucked in. There,” he said, cupping Dean's ass and pulling it toward him.

“Hey,” Dean said, hips jutting forward and bumping against Cas. Dean fought back a blush as their lower bodies pressed together for the scantest of seconds before Castiel stepped back.

“Better,” he said, raking his eyes over Dean's form. Dean felt himself get hot at the way Castiel's eyes watched his body's every detail, looking for flaws in his technique.

Castiel stepped back into position, and they moved through each position. Castiel's movements became faster as he repeated the exercise. His form never wavered, and his critiques came just as swiftly as his movements.

“Straighten your back.”

“Loosen your arms.”

“Point your toes as you move your feet. Those aren't bricks, do not move them as though they are a great weight.”

“Lighter on your feet.”

Dean's temper rose with every clipped correction. Castiel was a perfectionist, and Dean was more about adapting as he went.

They move onto arabesques, which had Dean even more off balance when Castiel asked him to lift his pointed leg until it was parallel to the ground.

“Higher,” Castiel told him, holding his own leg perfectly parallel.

“It doesn't go any higher,” Dean complained.

“Just raise it a little further.”

Dean grit his teeth and tried to lift it a little higher. He felt his muscles strain to accommodate the stretch.

“Hold it there,” Castiel said, counting to three. “Now, raise it a little again,” he said.

“It isn't...” Dean tried to cut in, but Castiel continued.

“Again.”

“What part of 'I can't do it' do you fail to understand?” Dean demanded.

“The part where you refuse to try even though you are completely capable of pushing just a little further,” Castiel told him, stepping up to Dean again and lifting his back leg for him.

Dean groaned as the muscles stretched under Castiel's manipulation. “Keep your chest up,” Castiel told him harshly as Dean tried to lower his front to accommodate his leg. Dean growled as he held his front up, but as soon as his chest was where Castiel wanted it, he raised Dean's leg more.

Dean cursed as he bottom leg wobbled. He was completely off balance, and having Castiel so close to him wasn't helping any. The man was so stable and in control of his body, it only made Dean feel more incapable.

“No frowning. The audience doesn't pay to see your pain,” Castiel repeated his words from the night before, and that was the last straw.

“They won't pay to see me do anything. I can't do this,” Dean told him, trying to pull his leg from Castiel's grasp, but Cas didn't let him go. It sent Dean completely off balance and he tumbled forward straight into the mud.

Dean sputtered as he got a face and chest full of mud. He cursed loudly as he pushed himself up. “You did that on purpose,” Dean said, wiping the mud off his face.

“You don't listen. You have everything figured out. You can't do this; you can't wear that. I show you that you can, and you get angry,” Castiel told him, crossing his arms.

“All you do is point out what I'm doing wrong. What else am I to think? My feet are wrong. My legs are wrong. My face is wrong,” Dean argued.

“Would you rather I lie and say you are perfect then let you embarrass yourself?” Castiel asked loudly.

“You don't have to be an ass about it!”

“If I spend the time to spare your feelings, it will take us ten years to create an act.”

“I'm done with this. Cleaning out movie theaters is better than this,” Dean said, throwing his arms up in the air and turning on his heel.

“Yes, run away. This means everything to you, being a part of this...” Castiel shouted gesturing to the tent and camp, “...means everything to you, yet you will throw it all away because you're afraid of failing. Your leg won't go higher if you don't push it beyond what you think it can do, and you will never be a part of this if you don't push yourself. It is easy to run away. To pretend that my words hurt instead of your own doubt. It is easy to practice out here in the mud instead of in front of the rest of the performers. You keep taking what is easy.”

“You don't know anything about me,” Dean shouted, turning back around and marching straight into Castiel's space. “You don't know a damn thing about what I want or what I'm afraid of. You think you're better than everyone else with your fancy act and your fancy history, but you're here now. This isn't Paris. No one cares who you were before. You're one of us now, and if you don't want a bed full of live rats, you'll stop acting like you should be marveled,” Dean said, pushing Castiel in the chest and leaving behind a muddy hand print.

Castiel didn't even budge from Dean's shove, but he looked down at his bare chest at the mud there. He frowned at it, looking back up at Dean.

“I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to perform and lift this tired circus out of its rut. I was trained by the best in the world, and if you want to have any hope of being successful at this, you should show me some respect,” Castiel said, wiping at the drying mud, but that only smeared it further.

Dean laughed in his face. “I don't need you. We were doing perfectly fine here until you showed up. Actually, everything started to go wrong when you arrived. Meg mysteriously leaving her post. Someone leading Zachariah to Sam when he hasn't set foot in the stable in the ten years I've known him. You conveniently 'saving' me from getting kicked out. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been manipulating me from the start,” Dean said, crossing his own arms over his chest.

“You think I'd go to such lengths just for you to say yes?” Castiel scoffed.

“Why shouldn't I? You come in here and my life turns upside down. What should I think?”

“And your life was so perfect before? A blind man could see how you craved to perform. You're an idiot if you think you're fooling any of them. You have all of their acts memorized, Dean. You can tell me what dancer is doing which warm up without even looking. You were _miserable_ , and you wouldn't even let yourself realize it because you told yourself it was your place; you could never do what they were doing. And your brother? Sneaking around with Miss Moore—”

Dean swung at him, not waiting to hear what he had to say about Sam. “That's my brother you're talking about,” Dean said, as he connected with Cas' jaw.

Castiel wasn't stunned for long, quickly grabbing Dean's arm as he wound up for a second hit. He swept Dean's legs out from under him, and Dean went down into the mud again. He looked up at Cas from his back and growled, kicking out and knocking Cas over as well.

Dean crawled over to Cas and tried to pin him to the ground, but Castiel rolled away from him. He hooked Dean around the shoulder and rolled him as well until he was on top of him.

Dean saw red as he grappled with Castiel for control. They were both covered in mud, and neither of them could get a solid grip on the other. Dean tried to wrap his legs around Castiel's waist to give himself some leverage, but Castiel bucked him each time.

They rolled again, and Dean got Cas on his stomach. He pushed his face into the mud, but Castiel elbowed him in the side and rolled away. He came back at Dean as Dean tried to catch his breath and pushed him onto his back.

Castiel tried to grab Dean's shoulders, but his hands ended up slipping and he fell forward, chests colliding. They were both breathing heavily as Castiel tried to push himself up again.

Dean tried to punch Cas in the ribs, but his arms ached too much to put any force behind it. Castiel went to hold Dean down again, but he slipped again, and he only just caught himself before their faces could collide.

Dean stared up at Cas' dirty face, and Castiel stared back. Their breath mingled as they laid there, too exhausted and aching to move or try to fight anymore.

“You have so much fire in you,” Castiel said between labored breaths. “You doubt yourself, but I know that if you got into the ring even covered in mud and bruises, no one will be able to take their eyes off of you, because you shine so brightly… I am hard on you because you have so much potential not because you are lacking in any way.”

Dean didn't know what to say, and when Castiel didn't immediately get up, Dean became more aware of just the position they were in. Castiel had him pinned to the ground, but he wasn't doing so threateningly. He was using his whole body to hold Dean's focus because he knew Dean would run if he found an exit. Confrontation had never been Dean's strong suit when it came to his own desires.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked, feeling every ounce of Castiel's weight against his body.

“Because you're worth caring about,” Castiel told him, lifting his hand to wipe at a drop of mud that had dripped off of him onto Dean's face, not that it did much good.

“And you know that from less than a week of knowing me?” Dean asked, still skeptical of this whole plan.

“I knew it the moment I saw you under the hood of that useless truck in the rain. No one stands out in a downpour fixing a piece of junk if they don't love it.” Dean shrugged, but Cas was right; Bobby had taught Dean how to take that truck apart and put it back together. He'd taught Dean about life, rebuilding it every time it failed on them.

“I'm just the guy who fixes the rigging. I'm not a star, Cas,” Dean said, but his voice sounded tired even to his own ears.

“Only because you won't let yourself. Let me help you,” Castiel asked him, pushing himself up and offering Dean his hand.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he took Cas' hand and let him haul him to his feet.

“We will practice tonight, when it is just us,” Castiel said, not letting go.

“Fine,” Dean agreed, making no move to pull away.

“I'm not giving up on you, Dean,” Castiel told him, before turning and walking back to camp.

Even covered in mud, Castiel was a thing to behold. He still walked proud. He still seemed to glide above the ground. He was still a star, and Dean couldn't see himself ever being like that, but he wouldn't prove Cas right. He wasn't running away, even if he had to duke it out with Cas in the mud.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The entire camp was talking about Dean and Castiel's fight for the rest of the day. Dean couldn't step out of his trailer without hearing someone gossiping about it or feeling eyes watching him.

Sam had really given it to him. He'd called Dean an ass at least a dozen times. He seemed to be the only one that thought he was wrong for dragging Cas through the mud. If only he knew Cas was the one who did most of the dragging.

Dean didn't argue with Sam about it. He knew he shouldn't have punched Cas, especially since Zachariah was previewing his act tonight. Dean hadn't known that when he'd pressed Cas' face into the mud, but Zachariah had announced it that afternoon.

Dean had caught sight of Cas standing outside his trailer less than an hour later, scrubbing away the dirt from his hair and body. Gabriel had sat on the steps of his trailer eating a lollipop from the candy shoppe in town as he talked to Cas.

Dean tried to keep his eyes off of Cas' body as he rinsed off, still wearing his tights. However, Dean's body still recalled how Cas felt against him as they'd laid in the dirt.

Dean took Bobby's truck out to pick up supplies before they headed out of town tomorrow morning. Instead, he drove to the woods outside of the city. He stared down at himself as he recalled Castiel grabbing his ass and pulling him forward. It had been professional. Castiel hadn't made any overtures about it, but Dean's body didn't know that.

Dean bit his lip, seeing the evidence of what just thinking about Castiel's touch did to his body. Dean felt like he was being pulled in two different directions; he wanted what Castiel was offering, but he was afraid to take that leap. His body reacted to Cas on the most basic level, but Dean kept pushing him away.

Dean didn't know what was going on with him, but everything was changing and Cas was at the center of it.

Dean reached down, unbuttoning his slacks. He pressed his palm to his erection as he remembered the way they'd moved against each other. His brain supplied glimpses of Castiel's sun kissed body as he’d bathed.

He slipped his hand into his pants and into his boxers, giving his cock a squeeze as he remembered Castiel's own cock and how it had pressed against him just that morning.

Dean pulled his hand out of his pants, shaking his head. What was he doing? He wasn't a teenager anymore. He didn't touch himself to forbidden thoughts of men he'd seen perform highly skilled acts anymore. He didn't fantasize about it being their hands that touched him.

Dean started the truck's engine, but before he could put the car into gear, he shut it off and shoved his hand down his pants again. He gasped as he stroked himself roughly. He thought of Cas pumping him with his callused fingers, looking into his eyes as he did it.

Dean bit his lip and whimpered as he circled the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb. He imagined Cas circling it with his tongue, telling Dean to lie still as he pleasured him. He imagined Cas giving him sharp directions as he kissed his inner thighs.

_Spread your legs further._

_Arch your back. Just like that._

_Beg for me._

Dean cried out as he imagined Castiel pushing inside of him as Dean was cradled in the silks, his body supported and suspended as Cas plunged into him.

Dean's entire body shook as he spilled over his fingers inside of his trousers, creating a mess. He didn't stop shaking as his mind kept going back to Castiel fucking him wildly in the center of the ring.

Dean felt tears in his eyes as he finally came down. A sweat had broken out on his neck and chest, and he felt as though he'd been running; he'd never come that hard from his own hand before, and he felt drained but completely satisfied.

He blushed as he removed his hand from his pants. He hadn't come in his pants since he was a boy. It was embarrassing, and he wouldn't be able to change them until he'd run his errands.

Dean wiped his hand on his handkerchief and untucked his shirt from his trousers. He pulled his suspenders from his shoulders and arranged his shirt to cover the prominent stain on the front of his pants.

By the time he got back to the fairgrounds, his come was tacky in his underwear, and every step he took reminded him of the fantasy that had caused it. Dean ended up outside with a bucket, cleaning the mud off his body just as Cas had earlier. At least, he had an excuse to bath in the middle of the day.

That night, Dean snuck into the big tent during the show. He found his place beneath the stands where he'd constructed a viewing box of sorts. He'd created an opening just high enough that he could see the ring perfectly while being out of sight beneath the seats.

He watched Jody ride atop Tristan's back, jumping through flaming hoops and performing amazing tricks. He watched Jo demonstrate her incredible aim with her knives, bringing Ash down from the stands to perform with her. Ash was always planted in the audience during her act. He often wore different disguises, but she always picked him.

She speared an apple as he balanced it on his head. She also pinned his shirt to a board from ten feet away. She was the best Dean had ever seen with a knife.

When the night was coming to an end, Dean felt the anticipation grip him. Though he didn't know where he stood with Castiel, he couldn't deny that he loved to watch him perform, and the chance to see him perform for a crowd was too much to resist. No one could see him, so his pride wasn’t even taking a hit. Castile would never know.

The tent went dark as Michael announced a special preview performance. Dean watched as Jo and Benny rushed around in the dark, getting the lyra hoisted up.

When the spotlight came back on, it shined right onto the center of the lyra where Castiel sat with his legs crossed. He wore a pair of tights and deep blue shorts that were held up by thin red suspenders.

“All the way from the steppes of Russia, the aerialist the French call L'Ange Du Ciel, we present to you—Castiel!” Michael announced as the band began to play a waltz.

The crowd cheered loudly as Cas slowly uncrossed his legs. He placed his hands on the lyra between his spread legs, giving the crowd an easy smile before lifting his legs off the ring and holding up all of his weight with his arms.

He stretched his legs out straight and pointed his toes creating a perfect silhouette as the lyra spun slowly.

Cas lowered himself back down to sit on the lyra before falling back and catching himself by the backs of his legs. Dean gasped at the move just as the rest of the audience did.

Castiel pointed one leg straight up, and the slight change in the balance caused the lyra to spin a little faster. He moved his arms gracefully though the air as he spun. The spotlight loved him just as the sun and lantern did, and he looked beautiful as he moved.

Dean bit his lip as Castiel pulled himself back up until he was crouching on the lyra. He arched his back, leaning forward, never fearing that he'd fall out. Then he swung to the side and wrapped his body around the arch of the apparatus.

The whole crowd was mesmerized just as Dean was. Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel if his life depended on it. Castiel laid down on the lyra and sent it spinning quickly, before the lights faded out.

Dean slipped out of the tent as the performers prepared for their final bows. He walked back to the trailer where Sam was supposed to be reading, but Dean found him pulling off his coat.

“Where were you?” Dean asked, closing the door firmly.

“We leave tomorrow,” Sam said as though that explained anything.

“So?”

“I had to see her before we go,” Sam told him.

“Are you out of your mind? If Zachariah caught you, he'd kill you, and feed you to Lucifer's lions,” Dean told him, throwing his arms up in anger.

“You don’t understand!”

“No I don’t. You got caught taking a roll in the hay with her, Sam. We nearly lost our home. We nearly lost our jobs. We nearly lost everything, and you’re still sneaking around to see her. Do you even care if we get kick out?” Dean asked, walking over to the cabinet.

“Of course, I care. This is my family too, Dean. That’s why I went when Zachariah would be at the show. He was debuting Cas, so he’d be there all night. No one was going to catch me,” Sam insisted, standing his ground.

“No one was going to catch you? Just like Meg was on look out that day? Just like Zachariah would be away on business for two days? There aren’t any guarantees, Sam. You’re playing with fire, and it’s going to get us both burned,” Dean said, pulling out the whiskey he hid in the cabinet and drinking straight from the bottle.

“Have you ever been in love, Dean?” Sam asked, walking over to him.

Dean lowered the bottle and gave his brother an incredulous look. “What does that have to do with anything?” he retorted. He thought about Miss Hurley for a fleeting second; she’d asked him to go with her while packing her bags. It had been a whim, nothing serious, or so he’d thought, and he hadn’t even considered it. He’d just given her a kiss and told her to take care of herself. She hadn’t looked too disappointed in his answer. Truth be told, Dean couldn’t imagine anything being important enough to take him away from this place. This was the only home he’d ever really known.

“Everything. If you’d ever been in love, you would know that I can’t just let her go. I can’t just walk away and never speak to her again. If you’d ever been in love, you’d know you would follow them to Hell and back because you can’t give up on them,” Sam said, running his fingers through his too long hair.

“Those are just pretty words, Sam. What good is love when you’re starving without work or a home? She isn’t going to look twice at you if you can’t even feed yourself.” Dean took another pull from the bottle, grimacing as it burned all the way down.

“You don’t know her, Dean. She isn’t like that. We’re going to get married,” Sam said, pulling the bottle out of Dean’s hand as it was halfway to his mouth. “I thought Castiel told you that drinking was off limits.”

“Castiel isn’t dealing with his stubborn little brother,” Dean snapped.

“No, I’m dealing with the elder stubborn Winchester, and Sam is correct. You are not supposed to be drinking,” Castiel said from the doorway of the trailer. Dean hadn’t even heard him open it. “I asked you to meet me after the performance,” Castiel explained as Dean gaped at him.

“I had more important things to handle first,” Dean told him, pointing at his brother.

“Samuel looks safe and healthy. I am sure that he can entertain himself for an hour or two while we work. Unless you think he should join us, to ensure he stays out of trouble,” Castiel challenged. Dean knew it for what it was, but he still rose to the bait.

“Absolutely not. He isn’t leaving this trailer until we leave this town and Zachariah behind us,” Dean insisted, pointing right at Sam who looked completely unimpressed with him.

“I’d love to see you two practice,” Sam said to Cas, completely ignoring Dean’s anger.

“Very good. Bring your equipment. I would like to see you practice as well,” Castiel said. “I brought you another pair, since this morning’s are most likely ruined,” Castiel said to Dean, holding out another pair of tights.

Dean groaned, but he took them from Cas. “We’re not done here,” he said to Sam as Sam collected his batons. “And we need to talk,” he said to Cas as he dropped his pants and pulled on his tights.

“I look forward to it.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he followed Cas out of the trailer, Sam close behind them. They walked across the camp as the performers began to pack away their equipment. The tent would come down in the morning, but for now everyone was getting their own things in order.

It was chaos. Though they packed up dozens of times every year, it never seemed to get any more organized—everyone looked out for themselves, because the caravan left the following day whether or not everyone was ready. They’d left behind two acts in the time Dean had been with them, picking up others to replace them in other cities along the way. There was always a man or woman that showed up at the fairgrounds with a talent and a desire to travel.

Dean hurried after Castiel, boots untied as he went, but he didn’t want a second muddy pair of tights in one day. He was still considering burning the first pair after their disaster of a practice that morning.

They collected a pair of lanterns from Castiel’s trailer before going to the tent, setting them up to give just enough light to practice by, and Sam put his equipment down to the side. He watched them as Castiel lowered the lyra and climbed up to rig the silks instead.

“Shouldn’t that be your job?” Sam teased, coming to stand beside Dean.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying about your own equipment,” Dean retorted, watching Cas carefully even though he knew he was perfectly capable of maintaining his own apparatus.

“I understand why you’re angry, Dean, but one day you’ll understand why I had to see her again,” Sam told him.

“I doubt it, Sam. I highly doubt it,” Dean replied, going to check that the silks were even before Cas climbed back down. Dean caught Sam’s sad smile as he went back to his torches; he knew the look was for him not their argument. Dean tried to brush it off. Love wasn’t for everyone. Men like him took what they were given. Maybe they’d have a fleeting affair or two, but a family and kids and a stable home weren’t in the stars for him. Maybe he secretly wanted those things too, just as he wanted to perform, but Dean knew men like him didn’t get to have it all.

Dean was happy with what he had, and he’d protect it. He’d protect Sam and his foolish ideas. He’d protect their jobs, and he’d do what it took to stay with the circus, which was as close to a home as he was ever going to get.

“Your mind is troubled. You need to let those things go when we practice,” Castiel said from beside him. Dean startled, having not realized Castiel had come back down. “Stretch with me,” Cas told him, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder and guiding him to the floor.

“I can’t just forget everything.”

“I didn’t say forget. I said let it go. You cannot fix those things when you are here. You can only do your best here. Other concerns will hold you back, make you sloppy. No one…”

“…is coming to see my pain. I get it. Stow my crap,” Dean said, running his hands through his hair. “Why did you invite Sam if you want me to focus?”

“Because he has been in that trailer for two days. He needs to get out, and he wants to see you perform. He wants to see you succeed, Dean,” Castiel told him, helping him stretch to touch his toes. Dean was still in pain, but he was glad that Castiel was giving him another chance on the silks tonight. After the day he had, he wanted to prove himself to Cas.

“What is your plan for tonight?” Dean asked, lying back and allowing Cas to stretch out his hamstrings as he’d done the night before.

Castiel smiled at him, but he kept his mouth shut. Dean rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand Castiel’s love of keeping things to himself. It frustrated Dean, but maybe that was the point—an exercise in control.

“I want you to climb the silks ten times. You need to focus on you form, legs graceful, toes pointed, body loose. It should look fluid; not like you are struggling or strong arming it. Between climbs, I want to see you rotate from first through fifth position as we did this morning, followed by the arabesques,” Castiel instructed once they were both stretched.

Dean wanted to complain, but he knew it was no use. He wouldn’t be moving on until he demonstrated to Cas that he could execute everything perfectly. If a fist fight hadn’t worked that morning, arguing wasn’t about to work tonight.

Dean stepped up to the silks, making sure to point his feet before taking each step. It was something he’d seen the dancers do, and he figured that it was a good way of showing Cas he was focusing. He took a breath and tried to block out Sam, who was watching eagerly from where he was lighting his poi. He tried to block out Castiel, who was undoubtedly looking for his every flaw.

Dean waited a moment and then he took the silks in hand. He lifted his leg to wrap it in the material then he lifted himself using mostly his arms, making sure to point his toes and be mindful of his legs. He didn’t rush up the silks, taking his time to do it well.

Castiel didn’t say anything as Dean went halfway up then came back down. He carefully stepped away from the silks and into first position. He wobbled a little as he made sure that his toes pointed out, but he righted himself before dipping into plie. Castiel didn't comment on the wobble, and Dean fought down the urge to look at him to try to see what he was thinking.

Dean went through the positions then began the arabesques. Castiel didn't tell him to raise his leg higher, but Dean tried to bring it up just a little higher on each one. When he finished he stepped up to the silks and began to climb again. Still not a single word from Castiel.

The second rotation through the positions were met by silence as were the third and fourth. As Dean climbed the rope the final time, he was so focused on Castiel's lack of instructions that he wasn't thinking about his toes or his lines or his posture. He went through it to get to the end and when he did, he turned to Cas.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well?” Castiel repeated.

“You didn't say anything. Did I do it right?” Dean asked, watching the way that Castiel was lying back in the stands.

“What do you think?” Cas asked him, looking like he owned the tent. His legs were crossed and his body relaxed.

“I don't know, that's why I asked you?”

Castiel smiled at him, sitting up then stepping down from the stands. He didn't say anything as he walked over to Dean and into in space. “If you'd let go of everything else, you'd be able to tell me. Do it five more times,” Castiel said softly, right beside Dean's ear. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine as their chests brushed for a moment, before Castiel stepped back again.

Dean balled his fists. He'd focused. He'd made sure he pointed his toes, was careful of his legs. Still, he went back to the silks and started over. He glimpsed Cas walking over to Sam who was juggling several lit batons. He made comments to Sam quietly as Dean went up and down, and Dean couldn't focus worth a damn because Castiel wasn't even paying attention. He was helping Sam instead.

“I thought we were practicing,” Dean called from halfway up the silks.

Castiel and Sam looked up from where they were inspecting Sam's batons. Castiel frowned at Dean and walked over to him. “You did not finish,” he noted, standing beneath Dean.

“You aren't even paying attention.”

“I don't need to be. I told you what to do. I trusted that it would be done,” Cas told him.

“Is this supposed to be helping me improve?”

“It is designed to make you improve yourself. I have taught you the basics. Now you must look at your own performance and decide how to improve. I will not be there to tell you to loosen your shoulders when we perform. You must be aware of yourself, and when you are aware of yourself then you will become aware of me. Then we can work together.”

“Your methods are awful,” Dean said, sliding down the silks without climbing down properly.

“They are the methods of the best in the world,” Castiel told him, putting his hands on his hips. He had an air about him that held back all of Dean’s protests.

“I'm not going to the circus academy. I'm not seven years old either. Just tell me what you want from me. The air of mystery is great for the act, but I can't do what you want if you don't tell me. Saying 'climb a rope and focus on it’ isn't directions. You talk to Sam; why can't you just talk to me?” Dean demanded.

“Because Sam listens when I speak to him. You fight me,” Castiel snapped.

“Because you keep pushing me.” Dean said, taking a step forward into Cas' space.

“You need to be pushed. You are as stubborn as a mule otherwise,” Castiel retorted, also stepping in until they were toe to toe.

They glared at each other, willing the other to back up but refusing to be the one that backed down.

Sam cleared his throat as they practically brushed noses since they were so close. “I, uh, think I'll head back to the trailer. I'll make sure our things are packed up,” Sam said awkwardly, pointing at the entrance of the tent. Neither of them looked at him as they continued to glare. “I'll just be going,” he said, picking up his things and practically running out of the tent.

“You made him leave,” Dean gritted out.

“I thought you wanted him to leave,” Castiel retorted.

“This isn't working.”

“You continue to say that, but I do not see you trying to make it work,” Castiel said.

Their breath mingled as they both huffed. Dean was aware of every inch of Castiel even though they weren't touching. He knew Cas was putting his weight on the balls of his feet. His right arm was tense, about to move. When Cas did move it, Dean was there in an instant, grabbing his wrist. He blocked Cas' right leg as he moved it forward as well.

Dean's breath hitched as soon as they were touching. He was too aware of his own body's memories of this afternoon. He was still tense from the shame of what he'd imagined. However, with Castiel against him, Dean felt his body relax into Castiel even if his anger still burned.

“I'm already aware of you, and I listen when you speak. That is why I get so angry. I think we should move on to the important things,” Dean said, leaning in to whisper in Castiel's ear then taking a step back and letting go of Castiel.

He walked over to the silks and climbed them, putting everything he'd learned the night before together. When he came back down, he gave Cas an expectant look.

Castiel actually looked off balance as he watched Dean. He was still standing tall with his shoulders back, but he looked surprised by Dean's fire. Then he smiled, motioning for Dean to climb again, but this time he followed him up in the second set of silks.

He pulled himself up alongside Dean and studied him. Dean felt a shiver as Castiel scrutinized his body. “We'll start with how to wrap the silks to hold yourself,” Castiel said before reaching forward to hold Dean's silks steady, even as he held himself up with his legs. The silks wrapped around his right foot like a step to stand on.

“Use both your feet,” he said as he gripped his own silks again and demonstrated how to weave them through the material to get a steady footrest. Then he held Dean's silks steady and nodded for him to try.

Dean had done this one before, but he did it slowly being careful to mimic Castiel's actions. When he looked up at Castiel, and he received a nod.

Castiel gripped his own silks again and leaned back away from Dean. “Try to test your range of motion in this position,” he said, leaning from side to side then coming forward again as Dean went back. Castiel separated his silks and leaned through them to lean over Dean as he leaned back. He mimicked the reverse of Dean's movements, so they moved together, only inches between them.

As Dean came forward again, Castiel leaned back into place. Castiel's actions made Dean bold, and he learned forward through his own silks. Castiel smiled, leaning back again and allowing Dean to lean over him.

“This is a steady position, but it is not as visually interesting as others,” Castiel said, releasing his leg from the silks and lifting them to rest on Dean's, giving him a small push. Dean swung back but as he came back toward Cas, Castiel wrapped his legs around Dean's hips.

Dean reared back, shocked back Cas' action. “You can make it more interesting by adding a partner or elements to create interest,” Castiel said, arching his back and gripping his own silks close to where Dean's feet were. He released one leg from around Dean's waist and brought it up straight and wrapped it in the material. Then he brought his other leg up as well.

Dean was facing Castiel's ass as Castiel hung there. Dean tried to look away, but Cas quickly separated his legs, wove the silk around the outside of his hip, hooked his knee around it, and pulled himself back up into a sitting position, facing Dean again.

“This is more complicated, but still not that visually interesting,” Castiel said as he hung in front of Dean.

“What did...that made no sense,” Dean said, trying to wrap his head around Castiel's movements.

“It will,” Cas told him. “We will learn the more difficult ones lower down,” he said, pointing below them. “For now, get used to this one even if you've done it before,” Castiel told him, lifting himself and releasing his legs before creating his foothold again.

Dean gulped as Cas leaned into his space, and he move back like before. Castiel lifted his free leg to rest against Dean's silk, and Dean tentatively raise his own leg to do the same against Cas'. He smiled as Castiel sent then spinning gently before bending his leg and straightening it. Dean mimicked him, and the slowly came together and pushed apart again.

Dean lowered his leg when Cas did. He followed Cas' movements and brought that leg up to wrap around the silk and hold himself steady, so he could lean back without using his hands. Castiel came up again as Dean leaned back slowly. He held Dean's silks steady again, and encouraged Dean to lean as far back as he could.

It was frightening, but Castiel was right there, and Dean let himself go. He felt his back arch as gravity did the work for him.

“Very good,” Castiel praised, gently resting his hands on Dean's hips to prevent him from wobbling and possibly losing his footing.

It was heady seeing the world upside down as he hung from the strips of material. This felt like an accomplishment. This wasn't basic ballet positions or climbing; this felt real.

“Slowly bring yourself back up, using your legs and stomach,” Castiel instructed, and that's when Dean remembered how much his muscles still ached.

Dean pulled with his leg, but his stomach didn't want to bring his upper body up. Dean started to wobble as he attempted to pull himself up, but before he could, Castiel reached down and offered his hand. Dean took it, and Castiel pulled him up until they were face to face, staring into each other’s eyes again.

“I'm here to help you when you falter,” Cas reminded him.

Dean nodded, gulping as their bodies pressed together.

“You are weary. You should rest,” Castiel said, leaning back and showing Dean how to release his legs and climbing down.

Dean took several steadying breaths before following Castiel. Dean sat as Castiel took down their equipment and packed it into his bags. He watched how Castiel moved, studying it, cataloging it.

When Castiel invited him to his trailer to work out his muscles, Dean turned him down. He didn't trust himself after this afternoon. He didn't trust his body not to betray him. Castiel insisted he get Sam to rub the salve into his shoulders anyway, and Dean took the foul smelling substance back to his own trailer.

Sam was sitting on his cot when Dean walked inside. “I now understand why you are constantly arguing,” Sam said, as he put his book down.

“What?” Dean asked, pulling his boots off.

“The tension between you two is thick enough to cut with a knife and butter our morning toast with,” Sam said, laughing at his own words.

“He's frustrating. Always giving orders...”

“And you rise to his every remark. I haven't seen this much tension since Pam and Benny met and insisted they weren't attracted to each other,” Sam said, his eyes full of mischief. “You want him,” Sam said.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, but he felt his spine go rigid. How did Sam know? Dean had never showed interest in men before, at least not in front of another living person.

“I'm talking about the way you two look at each other, like you want to tear your ridiculous tights right off each other. It's sickening,” Sam said, still chuckling.

“You don't know what you're talking about. Did you drop one of your batons on your head while you were practicing?” Dean asked, putting the jar on the table before walking to his bed.

“Maybe I'm wrong, but I think you both want each other. Might I suggest asking someone other than Meg to watch your backs?” Sam teased.

Dean threw his pillow at Sam, trying not to blush at his brother's words. That was out of the question. Castiel didn't want him. Castiel wanted a successful act. He wanted a partner who listened to him and didn't fight with him constantly. He certainly didn't want Dean. He could do far better than Dean.

Still, that didn't stop Dean's mind from dreaming of him and Castiel making love in the silks that night. Castiel guiding him so the silks would hold his weight as Castiel rocked into him. Castiel leaning in to kiss his neck as he wrapped his fingers around Dean's cock, pumping him in time with his own thrusts.

Dean woke in a sweat as he came in his boxers for the second time that day. He looked across the dark trailer at Sam's sleeping form, and he lifted his hand to rub his face. He had a problem, and it had everything to do with Castiel. Sam may have been crazy to think Castiel could ever be interested in Dean, but Dean's body was interested either way.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Dean had too much to do to think about Castiel or his growing infatuation with him. He was busy helping with the tent takedown and ensuring that everything made it to the train safely, working from dawn until they took off to make sure that everything was in top order.

Dean inspected the animal cars and the equipment cars when he got to the train yard. He and Bobby made sure that everything was in order as each trailer and tent was loaded aboard. Bobby and Jody sometimes talked about traveling before Zechariah ran the show. They would travel from city to city by horse drawn carts then truck drawn trailers. Zechariah had been the one to insist on the train.

It was a warm day, and Dean was sweating in his trousers and long sleeves as they worked. He removed his hat from his head and wiped the brim on his chest as they watched the crane lift the lion's cage, Lucifer's lion yowling as it was lifted into the air and brought to the sturdy flat car.

Moving day was stressful. There had been headlines of circus train wrecks in the last few years, and no one wanted to be the next headline.

The only problem was that he was exhausted from restless sleep, and his body ached from pushing it with Cas. He used his handkerchief to dab at the sweat on his forehead, but as he looked down the yard there were still plenty of carts and trailers and cages still to be loaded.

Ordinarily, Sam would help them; his large frame was strong, and he always pulled more than his weight, but they were keeping him out of sight until they set off. Zachariah tended to come to the yard to make sure all was well before he sent them on their way, and Dean didn't want to risk being barred from the train.

Benny arrived with Pam's trailer, and helped secure boxes as they worked. He smiled at Dean as they fought with the acrobat equipment.

“Word is that you've been getting dirty with the Frenchman,” Benny said, lifting the crate so Dean could un-snag it.

Dean gave him an unimpressed look as he straightened back up. “You know how I feel about gossip,” Dean replied, helping Benny move the crate now that it wasn't tangled.

“That's only because it usually involves you,” Benny retorted, moving up the ramp into the boxcar.

“It does not,” Dean said, helping him push the crate into its place in the corner. Benny gave him a look that said Dean was going to regret that comment. When they put the crate down, Dean sat on it and looked at Benny.

“Fine, let's hear it. What gossip worthy things have I done recently?” Dean asked, crossing his arms.

Benny laughed, taking a seat next to him. “Dean, you're all half of the women in the troupe talk about...and more than one of the men. Milly's had an eye for you since she joined the troupe, and if I have to hear her tell Pam the exact shade of green your eyes are one more time, I'll go as crazy as Gabriel,” Benny said, tucking his thumbs into his suspenders as he thought. “There's been a girl in the last ten cities we stopped in. No even Michael has had that many woman visitors. Meg insists that you seduced a nun in Colorado,” Benny said.

“A nun? Why on earth would I seduce a nun?” Dean asked. He tended to hear all of the gossip, but the troupe was clearly keeping some things tight lipped.

“Why not? I believe people are of the opinion that you are a scoundrel,” Benny said, patting Dean on the shoulder.

“I don't lie to them. They know it won't last. I don't make them promises, and they don't want any,” Dean defended himself. He wasn't proposing marriage to these girls. They knew it was just going to be a good time before they both went their separate ways. Dean wasn't foolish like Sam.

“I never said you lied. Any woman here, maybe with the exception of Meg and Charlie, would love an evening with you. They know it would mean nothing, but they'd gladly take one night,” Benny assured him, though Dean didn't find it incredibly reassuring. He saw most of the troupe as his family, and those he didn't were Gabriel and Michael.

“This is why I hate gossip. It rots the mind,” Dean said, pushing himself to his feet. He pushed his suspenders down and removed his shirt because it was entirely too warm to work fully dressed.

“You don't want to hear about the betting pool Gabriel's been running since you joined us?” Benny asked.

Dean spun around to stare at Benny.

What betting pool?” Dean demanded. Were they taking bets on how long he'd last? Were they betting when he'd fall from the rigging and break his neck?

“The first night you arrived, on that cold night, Gabriel insisted you were going to be our headliner. He told us all that the ‘wheel of fortune’ was turning, and our savior had arrived.”

“He was drunk,” Dean snorted.

“That's never stopped him from knowing things in the past,” Benny shrugged as he too got to his feet.

“When everyone met you and Sam the next morning, they told him he was out of his mind, but they were willing to place a little wager. Over the years, smart money has moved to Gabriel being right. Now it's more a 'when' than a 'whether' it will happen, and look at you, training to be a star,” Benny told him.

“You're full of shit,” Dean said, putting his hat back on and walking out of the car.

“You're one of us, Dean. There's no shame in wanting what we want,” Benny told him, catching up to him easily.

Dean knew there was no shame in it, but he also knew that he wasn't supposed to be one of them. All his father had ever said was how wretched the circus was; he said that it was a dead-end life, that the circus would dry you up and throw you away when it was done with you. Dean still couldn't stop himself from believing that his time to be thrown away was always looming around the next bend in the tracks.

“Did you join?” Dean asked. Benny was his best friend, and he felt a little betrayed that he hadn't told Dean about this sooner.

“Dean, my wife is a psychic. They told me it would be unfair to join any betting pool,” Benny said, sounding pained.

“She keeps you in line,” Dean laughed, knowing Benny had faced his own demons in his time. He also knew that Benny had chosen not to get involved and was just keeping up pretense.

As they stepped back down into the yard, Dean stopped short. Castiel was standing beside Bobby, talking and pointing to the next crate that needed to be moved.

“What are you doing down here?” Dean asked as he and Benny approached them. “You need to be making sure your trailer gets loaded.”

“The Harvelles offered to mind my trailer. I thought I could be more use to you,” Castiel said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “I assure you, I am quite capable of some heavy lifting.”

“This isn't your job,” Dean said.

“In my past troupes, it was everyone's job to ensure the caravan was in order. Is that not the way here?” Castiel asked, tilting his head and frowning in confusion. It hadn't been that way since Dean joined them. It started slowly, but sure enough within a year or two almost everyone had foisted their train yard duties to Dean.

“Yes, but—”

“Don't discourage the man. I want to be able to sit back with a bottle of rum sometime today,” Benny said, nudging Dean forward and almost right into Castiel.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Help Benny with that crate,” he ordered, enjoying the reversal in their rolls from the last two days.

Castiel easily lifted the heavy crate with Benny as Dean stood next to Bobby and his clipboard.

“Looks like Zachariah's finally taken on someone who's willing to pull their own weight,” Bobby remarked, checking off the crate the men were carrying.

“He just wants to meddle in all of my business,” Dean groused.

“Or he wants to help you because you're over worked and underappreciated. Not everyone looks down on you like your daddy, boy,” Bobby told him, smacking him in the arm with the clipboard.

Dean caught Benny and Cas stepping down from the boxcar. Cas had unbuttoned his top two buttons and was smiling at something Benny had said. Castiel fitted in here, just as he did far above the ground in the silks.

Dean shook his head as he waved them over to the horses that needed to be herded into their car and stalls. Castiel followed him, but Benny stepped back.

“Pam,” he said, pointing to his wife across the yard.

Dean nodded to him, and led Cas to the horse trailer. “They're usually pretty good, but Tristan can be a bit of a problem when he wants to be,” Dean said, reaching into the stall to pat the milk white stallion's withers.

“Jody does not oversee this?” Castiel asked, watching Dean get a harness on Tristan.

“Jody is in charge of seeing that the entire troupe arrives and gets into the correct cars. There have been a few times that performers were a bit too deep in their cups the night before and never arrived. Gabriel has been found sleeping in both the horses' car and the rations car upon arrival at destinations. Things run more smoothly if she's policing them,” Dean said, offering the lead to Cas. “Don't let him lead you. He knows the way, but if you give him the chance, he'll go find a patch of grass to roll in,” Dean ordered as he opened the stall.

Tristan pushed out, almost knocking Cas right over. Dean smiled as the horse immediately tried to pull Castiel in a different direction than the one they were supposed to take. It was vindicating to watch Castiel struggle with something for a change.

Tristan stomped his front hooves as the got down the ramp, pulling the lead to go toward the field on the other side of the tracks. Castiel tugged back, but the massive horse wouldn't budge. Dean grinned as Castiel told the animal to cooperate—maybe Dean had failed to mention that Tristan hated almost everyone but him and Jody. That was the real reason Benny always disappeared during horse duty.

“What are you punishing him for?” Bobby asked, watching the battle of wills going on between the cart and train.

“Just showing him the other side of things,” Dean said, sitting on the edge of the trailer.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Don't take too long. We need to be on the road by noon,” he said, walking down to the next trailer to be loaded.

“Tristan giving you a little trouble, Cas?” Dean called down to him.

“He does not wish to get on the train,” Castiel said through gritted teeth as he pulled the lead forward while Tristan reeled back.

“Just show him that you're in charge,” Dean told him.

“How might I do that?” Cas asked.

“You've never worked with horses before?” Dean asked, trying to infuse shock into his words, but that had been clear as day as soon as Cas got his hands on the lead.

“I am not especially versed in horses, no,” Castiel said, clearly frustrated.

“Oh, I would have thought being a part of the greatest shows in the world, you would have encountered a horse or two...”

“Just tell me what to do, Dean,” Castiel gritted out. Tristan nipped at the shirt over Cas’ shoulder.

“Here's the funny thing about animals, Cas. If they don't like you, there ain't much doin' that's going to change that. It's a bit like trying to fly without wings,” Dean said.

Castiel stopped tugging on the lead, and glared at Dean. This was the best morning Dean had had in ages. Tristan stopped as well and tried to nip at Castiel's already messy hair. Castiel swatted his nose away.

Dean grinned at him. “I understand you are trying to teach me a lesson. How do I get you to stop?” Castiel asked him.

“I haven't decided yet,” Dean teased.

“I am sorry if my methods are not to your liking,” Castiel told him, holding firm to Tristan's lead as the horse tried to wander.

“It's not the methods,” Dean said, winking as Tristan lowered his head to tug at Castiel's shoelaces with his teeth. Castiel hopped out of the way. Dean had taught Tristan that one in retribution for Gabriel braiding the horse's hair wrong. Dean didn't know if Tristan understood it, but Dean sure enjoyed it.

“I am sorry if anything I have done has angered you,” Castiel continued to apologize.

“Do you promise to work with me instead of over me?” Dean asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.

“I will do my best,” Castiel told him.

Dean shrugged, lifting his fingers to his lips and whistling loudly. Tristan immediately stopped fighting Cas and bolted in the direction of the train, knocking Cas aside as he trotted right up the ramp into the car.

Dean laughed loudly as he hopped off the cart and walked over to Cas, holding out his hand to help Cas off the ground. Castiel looked up at it skeptically, but eventually took Dean's hand and allowed Dean to pull him up. “I'm going to hold you to that,” Dean said, turning and going back to guide the other horses to the train.

Castiel had better luck with the others, and he was actually a great help as they packed up the last of the equipment.

“Come on,” Dean said when they’d secured the last of the luggage. Castiel had lost his shirt by then as well. He bent to pick it up off the edge of the flat car and threw it over his shoulder. They were both covered in sweat, and Dean’s aches were making themselves known.

Castiel followed Dean toward the front of the train. There were cars and cars, and it took a good eight or night minutes to walk to the front of the train.

“You weren’t so bad this morning,” Dean said as they walked side by side.

“Grand compliments will go to my head,” Castiel retorted.

“Fine, thank you for your help,” Dean said, bumped his shoulder against Cas’.

Castiel scoffed. “That must have been very difficult for you,” he said, knocking Dean back as well. “We should discuss our act while we—”

“Oh no, the train ride is for cards, alcohol, and relaxing. We don’t do business on the train. I’ll be too tempted to throw you off it if we do,” Dean said, shaking his head. He’d come close to throwing Gabriel off the train multiple times. He wouldn’t deny it wasn’t a tempting solution to his Castiel problem.

“I do not play cards or drink,” Castiel told him.

“Well, we’ll have to put an end to that,” Dean told him, wrapping his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “You see, Cas, that’s part of being one of us,” Dean said, grinning at him.

“Is it now?”

“Absolutely.”

Dean led Cas to the car that he shared with Bobby, Pam, Benny, the Harvelles, Jody, Sam, and Charlie. Benny was outside smoking a cigar as Jody checked that everyone was aboard the train.

“Took you two long enough,” he teased as they approached. “Did Tristan behave himself?”

“Of course he did,” Dean grinned from ear to ear as Cas rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Don’t feel too badly, Frenchie. Dean taught Tristan to untie Gabriel’s shoelaces in revenge. Not to mention, Tristan has also learned to pick the candy out of his pockets. It’s nothing personal,” Benny said.

“So you taught him that delightful behavior?” Castiel said, looking at Dean then down at his chewed up laces.

Benny howled with laughter as he got a look at Cas’ shoes. Castiel shook his head, following Dean into the car where most of their little troupe was already cooped up. Benny followed them in, after grinding his cigar under his boot. Sam was there talking to Jo as they stepped inside. They quieted down as soon as they saw Dean and Cas, and Dean rolled his eyes at them.

“What?” he asked, picking the bottle of vodka off the table as he passed them and taking a swig before Castiel could snatch it away from him. “No, Cas. The train ride doesn’t count. No rules on the train. Loosen your tights and relax for a bit,” Dean told him, pressing the bottle into Cas’ hands and motioning for him to drink.

Castiel gave him a measured look as he lifted up the bottle, frowning slightly at the contents as though willing it to tell him its secrets. But he didn't get an answer, so he sighed, took a sip of it, and brought it back down to look at Dean.

“I don't see the appeal,” he said, handing it back.

Dean smiled. “Give it a chance. You will,” he said, motioning for Cas to join him at the table with Sam and Jo.

Jo dealt the cards. Castiel just sat there, staring blankly at the hand in front of him as the others picked theirs up. “You have to look at them, Cas,” Dean told him, picking his up and handing them to Castiel.

“I'd prefer to watch.”

“Never played five card draw before?” Jo asked him, smiling sweetly from across the table.

“I'll help you through this hand,” Dean told him, putting Cas' cards in order for him and quickly explaining the rules. Cas didn't say anything as Dean spoke, but Dean could tell he was listening carefully; his whole body was leaning into Dean as he laid out everything Castiel could possibly need to know. Dean didn’t even fuck with the rules, just gave it to him straight.

When Dean finished, he patted Cas on the shoulder and looked at his own cards. He had a decent hand, better than Cas', but he still threw out a pair of cards and waited for Jo to deal him another two. Castiel threw down three, studying his hand hard as Jo handed him his replacements.

Dean didn't look over at Cas' cards even though he wasn't holding them close to his chest. He figured that if Cas needed help, he'd ask. They didn't wager that hand, simply showing their cards. Charlie won with a full house, queens and sixes. Dean had a full house as well, nines and sevens. Cas had two pair, and Sam and Jo didn't have much of anything.

After the first round, Jo got up to get shot glasses from her bag. She placed one in front of each of them as Charlie followed her, filling the glasses as they hit the table.

“Alright, gentlemen. Drink up, and let the fun begin,” Jo said just as the train whistle sounded and the car jarred into movement. Everyone lifted their glass, even Cas, and knocked it back.

“What is this poison?” Sam asked, preferring his alcohol to be above the bar instead of on the bottom shelf. Dean was no such critic.

“Effective,” Dean and Jo said in unison, grinning at each other.

Pam swept into the car from the one in front, carrying a jar of peanuts. She placed them on the table before sitting down, snatching Benny's glass and pouring herself a brimming shot.

“I see you've started without me as usual,” she said, taking the shot in one gulp.

“You're the psychic, darling. You should be able to get here in time,” Benny told her, leaning down to press a kiss to her thick brown hair.

“What makes you think I don't stay away on purpose? You know what alcohol does to me,” she said, batting her lashes at Benny. Benny bit his lip as he grinned lewdly at her.

“Get your own car if you're goin' to do that,” Jo groaned, handing the deck to Charlie to deal.

“You're more than welcome to join us, Joanna,” Pam told her. Jo's eyes went wide for a moment before she shook her head with a laugh.

“Ante up,” she said, picking her cards up from where Charlie placed them down. They each grabbed peanuts from the jar and threw one down onto the table.

“We wager peanuts,” Dean told Cas, placing a handful in front of him.

“Peanuts?” Castiel said, looking down at the pile on the table beside his cards.

“We used to wager shots, but that ended with Pam and Benny getting married and arrested,” Charlie told him. “Not necessarily in that order either.”

“I see,” he said, picking up a single nut and placing it in the pot.

Pam won that hand and the next. No one was surprised by it, but as they passed the bottle around the playing field became more level. By the sixth hand, Castiel was up about a dozen peanuts, and other than Benny was the only one showing no signs of being tipsy.

“Cas, stop being so serious. I can't read you at all,” Jo complained loudly as Cas collected another pot.

Dean laughed as Castiel frowned at her.

“I'm not being serious,” he said.

“Your face is just so...” Jo snapped her fingers looking for the word.

“Dreamy,” Charlie supplied. Everyone looked at her, but she was grinning wildly, clearly further along than the rest of them.

“Stoic,” Benny said, catching Charlie before she accidentally fell out of her chair.

“Stoic,” Jo parroted as though she'd come up with it herself.

“Don't let them bother you, Cas—stoic is good. They're jealous that you're winning,” Dean said, patting Cas' shoulder. Cas nodded at him, handing him a peanut because Dean had been slowly eating his own stash as he had more to drink. Dean grinned at him, leaning forward and taking the peanut with his teeth.

Castiel's eyebrows went up, but he didn't complain as Dean licked the salt from his fingertips. He looked away from Dean, barely keeping his stoic facade.

“You two can get your own car too,” Jo said, frowning at their little display.

Pam and Benny laughed as Dean quickly straightened up. He got a hold of himself remembering that he wasn't alone in his trailer or in Bobby's truck. He had to be composed.

Composure was a hard thing to come by as they brought out a second and third bottle. Poker dissolved into Jo showing them card tricks that weren't all that impressive. Castiel seemed impressed though, and it made Dean smile.

He wasn't sure why it was important to him that Castiel got along with his friends since he had plenty of problems with Cas. It was important though; he wanted Cas to fit in with them. He wanted Cas to like his friends, his family.

When Charlie started snoring underneath the table, Castiel was still sitting comfortably in his seat. Jo frowned at him.

“Are you a robot from one of those fancy films?” she asked him, pointing to the bottle Dean had been sharing with him.

“No,” Castiel said, sounding very confused.

“Why aren't you drunk like the rest of us? You said you don't drink. You should be drunk off your ass,” she said skeptically, leaning across the table to pluck at his shirt, as though he was hiding the alcohol on his person. “There's only one thing to be done,” she said, lining up shot glasses in front of him.

“Now, honey, I don't know if this is...”

“Shh, Pam. We're making sure Castiel isn't a robot,” Jo whispered, pouring vodka into each glass then sitting back. “Where's Mama when you need her?” Jo asked no one in particular.

Dean shook his head, picking up one of the shots she'd poured for Cas and drinking it himself. Castiel picked one up and drank it.

“Don't mind her,” Dean said, stealing another of Castiel's peanuts.

“I'm going to find her,” Jo said, getting up, wobbling, then sitting right back down. “Never mind. Sam, play us some music,” she ordered, forgetting her original plan.

Sam just grinned, getting up and staggering over to the gramophone Jo hand made sure made it into their car. He cranked the handle and placed the needle on the record, and after an audible pop music began to play.

This seemed to wake Charlie from her stupor. “Oh we should dance,” she said, letting Sam help her to her feet and lead her around the car in a poor excuse for a waltz.

Pam and Benny were quick to join the fun, dancing with each other and “accidentally” knocking into the other pair.

Dean stole another of Castiel's shots, grinning as the others danced about. Jo still sat across from them, humming along to the music and pretending to conduct the dance with one of her knives.

“Is this not better than arguing over our act?” Dean whispered in Cas' ear.

Castiel looked around and smiled at Dean. He was clearly feeling his drinks as well, but he was a far better actor than any of them gave him credit for.

“This is...pleasant,” Castiel whispered back, his lips brushing Dean's ear as he said 'pleasant' which sent a shiver down Dean's spin.

“Why aren't you two dancing?” Jo asked them as the music lulled.

“Not going to happen,” Dean leaned back in his seat as though to prove he planned to stay in it for the duration.

“Why not?” she challenged. “You dance together when you practice.”

“That's different,” Dean insisted.

“Not particularly,” she told him, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Would you care do dance, Miss Harvelle?” Castiel asked her, holding his hand out over the table.

Jo blushed at the title. She'd just been Jo—or Joanna when someone was angry with her—since she'd been a little girl. No one ever bothered with a title for her. “Oh, I don't dance. I throw knives,” she told him.

“I happen to dance quite well, if you care to learn. Dean objects to my methods, but I promise you that I will be a gracious partner,” he promised, standing up to prove he was serious.

Jo blushed again, but she took his hand and allowed him to lead her away from the table. He turned to face her and asked if he could place his hand on her hip. When she nodded, he held her and began to guide her in a waltz.

She was barefoot as she often was, preferring bare feet to heels. So, Dean didn't feel too bad as she stepped on Castiel's booted toes. She apologized, but Castiel brushed it off and continued to dance.

“You taught me to play five card draw, now I am teaching you to dance.”

Jo grinned up at him. “Actually, Dean taught you to play. I was going to leave you to embarrass yourself,” she told him proudly.

He gave her a gentle smile in return, seemingly not offended by her words. “Then I will have to find a way to thank him,” he said.

“You should probably dance with him,” Jo winked, glancing over her shoulder. “Dean's quite the dancer if the girls are to be believed,” she stage-whispered, looking straight at him.

Jo was trouble. Anyone could see that from a mile away, but she had one of the biggest hearts of anyone Dean had ever met. She'd just been a little slip of a thing when Ellen joined the troupe, hiding behind her mother's back when anyone approached her, but she'd taken a shine to Dean. She'd had a crush on him for a while, but as she'd grown into a woman, it had seemed to fade. To Dean, she'd always be his little sister, and while he knew that frustrated her sometimes, she tended to play it up to get a rise out of him, such as she was now.

Dean had been the one who taught her to throw knives, doing it to help her stand up for herself. But Jo had had dreams of her own act, and once she was bold enough marched right up to Zachariah, betting him that she could knock the hat right off his head. So, Zachariah had laughingly agreed that if she could, then he'd consider letting her perform one night.

She hadn't mentioned that she'd use a knife to do it.

Well, Zachariah had nearly had a heart attack when the hat was skewered right off his head. However, he'd kept his word, probably because she'd removed a second knife from her pocket.

“Dean's a wonderful dancer. Ellen's been trying to get him to join her dancers since she joined us,” Pam said as she and Benny danced over to Jo and Cas. They bumped into them as well, but Castiel barely budged, lifting Jo up so her feet didn't get trampled.

Dean blushed as everyone agreed that he was a good dancer; he wasn't used to their praise, and took another shot of vodka to calm his nerves.

“Come dance, Dean. Don't be shy. Only Pam and Benny bite,” Charlie told him, resting her head on Sam's chest as they basically just rocked to the music.

Dean heaved a dramatic sigh but got to his feet, the world tilting just a little before righting itself. “Very well, and who will I dance with?” he asked, and Charlie was the first to raise her hand.

“Sorry, Sam. This is for bragging rights,” she told him, patting his chest before pushing her way over to Dean.

Dean smiled at her, in her wide legged trousers and wild hair; she'd been obsessed with Katherine Hepburn and Marlene Dietrich for as long as he'd known her, and one day she'd waved a newspaper clipping of Katherine in trousers in his face and insisted she'd never wear skirts again.

“We need a livelier tune,” Dean called to Sam, who was once again closest to the gramophone.

Sam went through the small selection of records that Jo had collected and put on something popular. Dean didn't recognize it, but then he didn't follow most popular music. He took Charlie and pulled her in close before starting to swing her around in a spirited dance.

Pam and Benny gave them space as Dean guided Charlie around. She perked up as he twirled her, following his movements easily since much of her performances involved intricate choreography.

Dean didn't know how it was decided, but it seemed that everyone wanted their own shot at him, and as the song ended Jo bumped Charlie out of the way and slipped into his arms.

Dean looked up at Cas, who smiled at them as Dean pulled Jo close before dipping her. She laughed happily, waving at Pam with the arm she'd had braced on Dean's shoulder. Pam snorted, waving back, as Dean brought Jo back up and immediately twirled her before pulling her against his body again.

Pam whistled at them as she poured another drink for herself and anyone else who was ready for one. Castiel took the one that Charlie reached for, and Sam scooped her up into his arms again instead.

“You're so strong,” she slurred, petting his chest, as though he were one of the mousing cats that traveled with them. Sam just laughed.

“You're drunk,” he told her, pushing her once neatly styled hair out of her face.

“Yes, but you are still strong,” she said, nodding.

Sam shook his head, lifting her so that her feet balanced on his boots. He swayed back and forth with her cradled to him, talking quietly.

Pam sauntered over to Dean when she decided it was clearly her turn. Dean laughed when she gave his ass a squeeze and pressed against him. He raised an eyebrow and she grinned at him. “Your dance card's always full. A girl's got to take liberties when she gets the chance,” she told him. Benny laughed from his seat at the table again while Castiel looked shocked by the behavior.

“You let your wife get away with this?” Dean teased Benny.

“Who's going to stop her? I certainly can't. I happen to like my nuts still attached to me,” Benny told him, sipping at his glass of vodka.

Dean laughed, allowing Pam to lead their dance because the woman certainly didn't take direction from anyone—except perhaps who or whatever she got her visions from. Benny burst out laughing when Pam dipped Dean, nipping at his collarbone as she held him steady.

Dean felt like he danced for hours; every time he tried to sit back down, Pam handed him another shot and sent him back onto their “dance floor.”

Charlie danced with Jo when Sam was deemed to be in charge of music permanently, and they giggled as the danced sloppily together. When all of the girls were too 'tired' or drunk to dance anymore, Pam sent Benny to dance with Dean. Benny was a good dancer himself, and when Sam put on one of Jo's big band records they just went for it. Benny lifted him up multiple times, sending the girls into peals of laughter and applause.

Dean was thoroughly inebriated by then and laughed when Castiel cut in. Cas smiled at him as he put his hand around Dean's waist, and they easily fell into the dance.

“They didn’t lie about your skill,” Cas said as they danced in close then back to arm's length to the music.

Dean shrugged, completely taken by the alcohol and music; he didn't notice that everyone else was either asleep on various surfaces or completely ignoring them. Dean didn't even realize when the record ended, giving off the steady pop that it had run its course.

The sudden lack of sound must have woken Sam from his stupor against the bar that the gramophone was placed on. He looked up at Dean and Cas, still dancing like a pair of fools even though the music wasn't playing. He grinned at how they were in their own world and looked through the collection of records, finding the perfect recording.

He switched out the records and placed the needle carefully in the right spot. The player popped and scratched just slightly, then the orchestra began to play. After the opening strains, Doris Day's voice came to life.

_When I fall in love...it will be forever...or I'll never fall in love..._

Dean's movements stuttered as the music changed. He frowned as the romantic ballad came on, looking around himself to find Benny and Pam asleep against each other. Jo and Charlie were curled together on the bench seat, holding each other. Charlie snored softly, and Jo nuzzled into her.

He looked back at Cas who was watching him with an unreadable expression. Sam was motioning for Dean to keep dancing just behind Cas' shoulder, and Dean internally rolled his eyes. Sam thought he was a comedian.

However, before Dean could step away, Castiel pulled him close and began to lead him to the beat of the song. It was more intimate than anything he'd danced with the girls to, and Castiel held him with the gentlest of care. It was strange, but it felt nice to his alcohol-laden brain. Dean relaxed into the embrace, the world fuzzy around him.

 

_And the moment I can feel that_

_you feel that way too_

_is when I fall in love with you_

 

Once again, even as the record came to an end, they continued to dance slowly to a song neither of them could hear, but both could feel.

Eventually, Dean stepped away from Cas who finally looked equally as drunk as he felt. “We should probably get some rest before we reach the next city,” Dean said, motioning to the next car which housed their sleeping quarters.

“That seems wise,” Cas replied, looking around them at their sleeping companions. Sam had fallen back to sleep on the bar, and not even the skipping record could wake him this time. “Should we see them to bed?” he asked.

“Oh no, you sleep where you fall. If they can't be bothered to make it to bed, then they deal with the aches in the morning,” Dean explained.

“You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“What gives you that idea, Cas?” Dean laughed, taking Cas' hand and leading him into the next car.

“You are all very close,” Castiel said, sounding surprised by just how close they all were.

“Of course, we are. We're family,” Dean told him, pointing to the bunk across from his for Castiel. Castiel frowned at him for a moment before taking a seat.

“It is just that… You are very close to them, but you are still...” Cas paused, looking for the right words. “You are still afraid of their rejection.”

Dean was the one that frowned this time. His brain was too muddled with alcohol to summon the anger that that statement would ordinarily evoke. Instead, Dean shook his head, crawling onto his bed. “You don't know what you're talking about, Cas,” he said, lying down facing the wall. Conversation over.

Castiel didn't say anything. Instead, Dean heard him moving around for a couple of seconds, before he too settled in.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the song When I Fall in Love sung by Doris Day.


	9. Chapter 9

Bobby woke Dean with a hearty shake as the train neared their next stop. Dean groaned—it felt like a band was drumming in his head.

“How much did I drink?” Dean asked, rolling over to face Bobby and evidently Ellen and Jody as well.

Jody shook her head at him. “Corrupting the new boy,” she said, infusing her words with plenty of motherly disapproval.

“I didn't corrupt anyone,” Dean said, though he barely recognized his voice it was so gravelly.

“Is that so?” Ellen asked, stepping aside to reveal Castiel, who was passed out hanging half out of his bunk. His clothes were completely disheveled, and a strand of drool hung from his mouth.

Dean snorted even though it hurt his head. He hadn't meant to get Cas that sloppy, but they'd all just let loose. Maybe a little too loose; Dean remembered dancing with Cas to no music at all. He might as well have been the dame in one of those shows at the cinema. Maybe Cas wouldn't remember, and Dean could just pretend it never happened.

Then Dean remembered Castiel asking why he was afraid of the group's rejection. Even drunk, Castiel was too sharp. Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and got out of his bunk.

“He's a grown man. He can handle himself,” Dean told them, walking back into the car they'd partied in. Everyone was still passed out. Dean poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down while Ellen and Jody shook their heads at the state of the others.

“Joanna Beth Harvelle,” Ellen said, far too loudly for anyone's ears at that point.

Jo startled awake, grabbing her head then her stomach as she pulled away from Charlie's embrace.

“Shit, Mama. Have mercy,” Jo told her, but Ellen didn't know the meaning of the word.

“Pull yourself together. All of you,” Ellen said loudly as everyone else began to come to life as well.

“Come back to bed, darling,” Charlie murmured, still mostly asleep. She tugged at Jo, but Jo didn’t budge.

Jo blushed crimson as her mother's eyebrows shot up. She bit her lip, but she didn't deny anything. Dean took mercy on her, clutching his stomach and staggering toward Ellen.

“Think I'm gonna be sick,” he said dramatically, looking around for a bucket.

“Oh no, you aren't. Not in here,” Ellen said, taking him by the collar and pulling him out of the car. Dean caught a glimpse of Jo's relieved expression as Ellen manhandled him away from the others.

Dean did an admirable job putting on a show of gagging and choking out the open window while Ellen tapped her foot. He wiped his mouth for effect as he pulled his head back in. At that point, Castiel was somewhat awake and looking at him in concern from his bunk.

“A bunch of children,” Ellen said to him.

“Don't be sore, Ellen. If I remember right, you've had your share of rough wake ups,” Dean said. Ellen gave him a sour look, but she didn't tell him he was wrong. “I know it's hard to see her as a woman, but that's what she is, Ellen. It's hard for me too. I still see her seventy pounds soaking wet and determined to show Zachariah she deserved her own act. But she's all grown up now whether we like it or not. She knows what she's about, and no one can tell her otherwise,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck.

He'd known about Charlie's little infatuation for a while now, but he'd never thought Jo reciprocated it.

“You lecturing me on my business, Dean?” Ellen asked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I love Jo, Ellen. She's the little sister I never knew I wanted. I make her happiness my business because she deserves it. I'm just tellin' it as I see it,” Dean said, standing up straight even though he still felt plenty wobbly from the alcohol.

Ellen sized him up, frowning deeply. “She's my little girl, Dean. I'll never stop worryin' about her.”

“I ain't sayin' you should. I'm just sayin' Charlie ain't something you have to worry about.” Dean shrugged, refusing to back down from her scrutiny. Castiel had pretended to go back to sleep on his bunk, but Dean knew he was hearing every damn word they said.

“If she hurts my daughter...”

“Charlie couldn't hurt a fly, Ellen,” Dean told her.

“You're a fool if you think that,” Ellen said, patting him on the shoulder. “Make sure that everyone is awake and ready to go when we arrive,” she ordered before walking toward the front of the train.

“Will do,” Dean agreed, letting her go. She'd speak to Jo later, or maybe she'd just ignore it. Dean didn't know which would be better. He knew which would be worse if it had been his father finding him sleeping with another man, but Ellen wasn't John Winchester. She may have been raised in a similar life as he was, but she loved Jo more than life itself. She'd come around.

“Did I miss something?” Castiel asked groggily once Ellen was gone.

Dean looked at him. Cas was sitting up now, his hair a mess and drool still clung to his chin. His shirt was almost completely unbuttoned as were his pants, though he still wore both.

“Just Charlie outing Jo,” Dean said with a shrug.

“That was not common knowledge?” Castiel asked, sounding tired and confused.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. “You knew?”

“I just assumed. I caught Joanna coming out of Charlie's trailer two nights this week alone,” Castiel said.

Dean opened his mouth and closed it several times. How did Cas do that? Just accidentally find out secrets that even Dean wasn't aware of?

“It wasn't common knowledge, no,” Dean said.

“You handled it well,” Castiel told him, pushing himself to stand.

“I'm sure it doesn't feel that way to Jo.”

“That's why you're worried about their rejection,” Cas said, sounding as though he'd just put the pieces together. Clearly, he remembered all of their little party.

“I'm not queer,” Dean said automatically.

“I didn't say you were. I said you were afraid of their rejection. It's because you stand for them and protect them, but you've never had anyone do that for you, have you? You're afraid no one will stand for you,” Castiel said, stepping into Dean's space. Their wretched breath mingled between them, and if Dean's stomach wasn't already churning, that would be enough to do it. However, it wasn't enough to distract him from Cas' words.

“You don't know m—”

“I'm trying to. I'm trying to be your friend.”

“I don't have friends,” Dean told him.

“To me, it looks like you're surrounded by them.”

“That's—”

“You're allowed to have nice things, Dean,” Castiel said, their chests barely touching. “You're allowed to have this family of yours and still want more. You're allowed to want your own act. You're allowed to want something all for yourself. That doesn't make you selfish. It makes you human,” Castiel said, their noses almost brushing.

“I know that,” Dean retorted, but it struck a nerve. Cas always managed to cut straight to Dean's weaknesses. “I need to make sure everyone is awake,” Dean said, trying to step around Cas, but Cas reached out to block his path.

“I'm not your enemy, Dean. I hope you know that,” he said, dropping his arm to let Dean pass.

Dean walked away without saying anything. He felt raw. Cas my not have meant to be Dean's enemy, but Dean was starting to realize that he could undo Dean just as easily with good intentions as with bad ones.

Dean threw himself into work instead of facing his worries. He worked ceaselessly until the camp was set up on the outskirts of the new city. He worked through the aches and distractions. He checked and rechecked the equipment and apparatuses. He fed the animals, and he cleaned their cages and stalls.

He worked himself to the point where when he went to bed, his body fell into a deep sleep before he could think about anything troubling. He was too exhausted to dream of Castiel touching him, and too worn out to focus on any heavy thoughts.

When he woke the second day in town, Sam was frowning at him. He held out a cold glass of water followed by a strong cup of coffee. Benny's coffee. No one brewed it quite like him—strong but still flavorful.

“Why the face?” Dean asked as Sam continued to frown at him.

“You're pushing everyone away,” Sam said, pulling a chair over and straddling the back of it.

“I've been working. There's a difference,” Dean defended himself, taking another sip of his coffee. He half expected Sam to take it away again because he was being difficult.

“Not for you. That's how you block us out. What's wrong? Everything seemed good on the train, then suddenly you're hiding.”

“I'm not hiding...”

“You are, Dean. I'm your brother. I know when you're avoiding something,” Sam pushed, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Is it Cas? He's worried that he upset you, but he won't say why. Did he do something?” Sam asked, gripping the back of the chair tightly.

“He didn't do anything,” Dean said, getting up and stepping around his brother. Sam got up, turning around as Dean tugged down his boxers and grabbed the tights Cas had given him. He had practice in less than an hour.

“Then what is it, Dean? Are you still afraid we're going to get thrown out? Zachariah's not here. We're safe,” Sam told him.

“I wish it were that simple, Sam. You coming to practice, or do you have better things to do?” Dean asked, pulling his boots over his tights since it was raining again—it had been since they arrived, and it did nothing to improve Dean's mood.

“I'll catch up. Go ahead,” Sam sighed, sitting down heavily in his chair.

“Don't worry about me, Sam. I'll be fine.” Dean pulled on his coat and opened the door.

“I'm your brother, Dean. Of course, I'm going to worry about you,” Sam said before he could escape. Dean didn't say anything. He just turned the collar of his coat up and ran for the big tent.

Castiel was already in the silks when Dean arrived. He was suspended upside down with his legs in a full split, legs going to either side of his body. Dean smirked as he toed off his boots and dropped his coat. He jogged over to the hanging material and grabbed it. Castiel looked down at him, but Dean was already beginning to swing him back and forth.

“Climb up,” Castiel called down as Dean got some momentum going.

“I'm too heavy,” Dean called up, knowing it would have to hurt since the silks were wrapped around Cas' spread legs.

“It is nothing I haven't handled before. Climb up,” he called again.

Dean bit his lip, but he grabbed the silks and did as he was instructed. Castiel didn't even flinch at Dean's added weight, holding himself completely still as Dean carefully climbed until he was only a few feet below him.

“What now?” Dean asked.

“It depends,” Cas told him, looking at Dean upside down.

“On what?” Dean took the bait. There was no use fighting it; he wanted to know what Cas was thinking.

“It depends on whether you trust me.”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Of course, you always have a choice, Dean. You chose to climb up here,” Castiel said, using his arms to adjust the silks minutely.

“And if I trust you, what happens next?” Dean asked. Castiel smiled at him. It was a smile that held so much meaning, and Dean couldn't help feeling like Castiel was looking at his lips intently.

“You take my hands and let go of the silks,” Cas told him, as though it was quite simple.

“And if I don't?”

“I teach you something else,” Castiel said, shrugging like it wouldn't bother him either way.

“I don't even know what I'm doing yet,” Dean tried to reason.

“I do.”

Dean pushed down the urge to fight. This wasn't about fighting. This was about whether he trusted Cas to not drop him. Either he did or he didn't. There was nothing that fighting could solve. This was all on him. Dean fought down his conversation with Sam and took a breath. Somehow when he stepped into the tent to practice with Cas everything else fell away—his fears, his tensions with Sam, even his tensions with Cas. It was like when Meg’s snakes shed an old skin. For a little while, he was free and cleansed of the bad.

Dean wrapped his foot in the silks to hold himself up and he reached up toward Cas with his right hand, his left still holding on.

Castiel smiled, lowering his arms and taking Dean's hand in his own. He waited patiently for Dean to release the silks with his other, and when Dean did, Castiel showed him how to hold firmly—he guided Dean to grasp his wrists, so he could grasp Dean's in return to create a much more secure hold. When they had a steady grip on each other Castiel nodded.

“Release your foot,” he told Dean.

Dean took a slow breath and unwrapped his foot from the material. He barely budged as Castiel held him firmly. Dean was impressed by Cas' strength as he held Dean high above the floor of the tent.

Everything around them had stopped, and the other performers were watching to see what they did. Dean felt like the spotlight was right on him, but more than that he felt Cas' eyes, watching him and gauging how he was doing. The rest of the tent faded away, and only Cas remained.

“Are you secure?” Cas asked. Dean nodded; he couldn't imagine himself being any more secure than he was. Castiel smiled, moving his arms slightly back and forth. “Then swing your legs,” he instructed.

It was actually quite exhilarating as they began to almost fly through the air. “How strong are your arms?” Cas asked him.

“Strong,” Dean said. At least he thought he was strong, since he spent most of his days doing heavy lifting.

“And you stomach?”

“Strong,” Dean repeated, though he wasn't sure how one would gauge such a thing.

“Then try to lift your body into the position I'm in. It's is alright if you cannot do the split, just extend your legs forward as you invert,” Castiel explained.

Dean frowned, using his strength and the momentum of their movement to bring his legs up. He just missed hitting Cas in the face as he kicked up wildly.

“Stay in control,” Cas told him calmly, and Dean tried again. He got into the position for just a second before falling out of it again. His arms jerked as he came back to hang, but Castiel held him.

“Once more,” Cas said. Dean bit his lip and focused as he tried to lift his body up. He got about halfway, but he couldn't make it and fell back again.

“I can't,” Dean told him, suddenly feeling the eyes of the others again.

“You did well though,” Cas told him, pulling Dean up with impressive strength. It made Dean feel worse for not having enough strength to do as Cas told him. “You didn't say you couldn't from the start. You tried, and you did far better than I did the first time I attempted such a maneuver.”

“You don't have to lie.”

“I would not lie to you. You do not attempt new things with the idea that you will succeed immediately. You attempt them with the knowledge that you will fail, but without a hundred failures, you cannot have a thousand successes. Would you like to reverse positions?” Cas asked him.

“I can't do a split,” Dean told him, looking into Cas' eyes.

“I will show you a modified way. There are always other ways,” Cas promised quietly.

“Sure,” Dean agreed, barely realizing that the tent was still quiet.

Cas lowered Dean back down. Dean pulled the silks in with his legs and took hold of them again, climbing down so Cas could unwrap himself. When he was free and holding himself up by his arms, he called down to Dean to climb back up.

Dean did so quickly, coming to a stop just beneath Cas. Castiel carefully showed him how to wrap his legs and waist then watched as Dean did so. “Invert your body, but keep your feet together, creating a diamond,” Cas told him, and Dean let his body weight do the work, sending him upside down and creating a more secure wrap around his legs. “Now make sure that your feet are also secure,” Castiel told him. Dean checked to make sure that the silks wouldn't slip from them just because they were bent instead of straight out as Cas' had been.

“I'm secure,” Dean told him.

Cas climbed down and touched Dean's legs, moving them just a little and checking the silks around them. “You are,” he agreed. “Now, hold steady as I lower myself down. The less you move the less painful it will be,” he told Dean.

Dean nodded, holding his arms ready for when Castiel took them. Cas carefully climbed down over Dean’s body, somehow making it look graceful. He brought himself down by taking the silks that hung from Dean’s legs around his own. Then he took Dean’s arms as they’d done before.

There was applause from beneath them as Castiel lowered his body straight down, kicking out of the silks when he was in position. “I want to you release my left hand and take my left ankle when I raise it,” Castiel told him.

Dean felt himself start to panic about dropping Cas, but Castiel released his left wrist without waiting for Dean to reply, trusting him to hold on. Dean strained to hold Castiel with one arm, but Castiel soon raised his left leg straight up.

Dean grabbed his ankle firmly, and Cas remained in the split as applause came from below again. “How are your arms?” Castiel asked, once the tent was quiet enough for him to be heard again.

“Okay. Starting to hurt, but I have some left in them,” Dean told him honestly, too afraid of dropping Cas to lie.

“Then hold on,” Castiel told him before rolling his body into an arabesque. Dean actually gasped as he looked down at Cas posed like a ballerina in flight. Cas bent his lower leg up, then lowered it again. “Release my hand and take my leg in both your hands,” Castiel told him.

Dean took a breath before releasing Cas' wrist, bringing his other hand to Cas' ankle as quickly as he could. He held Cas tight, arms straining, as Castiel lowered his torso and right leg into another split. He held his leg by his head before taking the silks, wrapping his free leg around them and called for Dean to release him.

Righting himself, Cas quickly climbed down to the ground before instructing Dean on how to do the same. Dean reached up to the material around his legs and used it to pull himself up, carefully extricated each limb from the wrappings and lowered himself down to the floor.

He wobbled as he put all his weight on his legs again, but Castiel wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled Dean into a bow as the others clapped for them. “I'm going to fall over,” Dean told him, now realizing how much strain that had put on not only his arms but his legs as well.

“You have earned that,” Castiel told him. “The rest of the day we will work on the ground,” Castiel said, leading Dean to the seats.

“Impressive,” Pam said, sitting higher in the stands to watch Benny practice.

“Oh that? That was nothing,” Dean joked, rubbing at his aching legs.

Pam snorted, smiling down at him.

Castiel knelt in front of Dean and took his right, propping it against his knee. He began to massage Dean's calf and slowly worked his way up Dean's leg. “You did very well,” Castiel told him, working his fingers deeply in to the muscle. Dean groaned at the mixture of pain and relief Castiel's touch brought. “You were focused on us instead of the crowd, and you didn't stop to doubt yourself,” Castiel continued.

“I'm a regular star now,” Dean said, but Castiel pinched his thigh. “What was that for?”

“Do not belittle yourself,” Castiel told him, working his fingers higher until he was practically massaging Dean's groin, but even those muscles hurt, so he didn't stop him. Castiel's hands were like magic, soothing some of the pain. Dean covertly adjusted himself when Castiel moved down to his left calf.

When Dean's legs were in working order, and everyone had gone back to their own practices, Castiel led Dean out of the tent. Dean wasn't surprised when Cas led him out into the fields around the tent. It was still raining, though it was a lighter rain than the one he'd worked in the past two days whilst putting the tent together and getting everyone settled in.

“Come to play in the mud again, Cas? I'm starting to think you didn't get enough of this as a child. Making up for lost time?” Dean teased him, feeling steadier somehow after what they'd just accomplished. For a moment Castiel looked morose, but he smiled quickly.

“I wanted privacy,” Cas said, shrugging then stretching his body. Dean didn't ask why. He'd surely find out soon. Instead, he stretched his own body. Even though it had been less than a week of practicing, Dean noticed that his body stretched further than it had. “I hope you do not mind getting dirty,” Cas said, straightening up.

Dean grinned. “I'm used to getting dirty, Cas. The question is, do you mind getting your white tights soiled?” Dean teased.

Castiel's whole body seemed to heave as he rolled his eyes at Dean. Dean laughed. Castiel laid down in the wet grass and spread his body out like he planned to make a snow angel.

Dean followed his lead. Castiel led him through a long succession of stretches which pulled at his muscles, demanding that they stretch further. Dean didn't understand why this required privacy until Castiel got up to guide Dean's body just a little further. Castiel straddled Dean's stomach as Dean laid on his back with his legs in a 'V' to allow gravity to pull them down.

Cas was facing away from Dean as he placed his hands on Dean's inner thighs, just above his knees, and pushed down.

Dean gasped as his legs lowered a good three inches each. “That hurts like hell,” Dean told him, bringing his arms up to try to dislodge Cas, but Castiel was a solid weight holding him down. Dean calmed his breathing as the pain ebbed into a deep ache. He still wasn't ready for it when Cas did it again.

Dean cursed loudly as Cas used his body weight as leverage to stretch Dean's legs further. They probably painted a lewd picture as Castiel leaned between his spread legs, and Dean groaned through the pain.

Dean was fighting back tears when Castiel pushed down harder one last time. “Breathe,” he ordered Dean, before counting to ten. He released the pressure on Dean's legs slowly, not allowing Dean to jerk his legs closed.

“Christ,” Dean cursed as he felt like his groin had nearly been torn in half. Castiel didn't let up though. He guided Dean into hamstring stretches—which hurt just as much when Castiel laid over him—using his weight to push Dean's leg closer to his chest.

Dean could feel Castiel's groin pressed against him, and he tried to focus on that instead of the pain he felt through his legs. He could feel the outline of Cas so close to his ass as Cas pushed his leg a little further.

Dean's body responded to Cas' as Cas sat back to let Dean switch legs. Dean didn't even look down at the boner he was sporting. Cas probably thought he got off on pain, which was marginally better than Cas thinking he got off on him. However, as Castiel leaned over him again, Dean was pretty sure that he was feeling more of Cas than he had been a minute earlier.

Dean tried to focus on the pain again instead. That did nothing for his cock as Castiel pressed against him, his own cock hard. Castiel said nothing as he let Dean lower his leg down. Dean looked at him, but Castiel was already getting up.

They continued to stretch, Castiel using his body to push Dean's further. However, there was an underlying sexual tension to it as Dean basically allowed Castiel to tie his body up in knots. Neither of them said anything about it.

The rain continued to fall around them, slicking their bodies and barely cooling the heat between them.

When Castiel finally pronounced their practice over, Dean just sat there looking up at him; Cas' tights were practically transparent from the steady rain. His knees and shins were muddy, but his thighs were clearly defined through the wet material. Dean's eyes rose higher, seeing the outline of Castiel's thick cock through the thin material.

Dean's eyes trailed up his torso and chest to find Cas studying him as well. Dean didn't blush, but he felt his pulse quicken as Castiel let his own eyes rake over Dean, who still sat in the mud.

“You're showing improvement,” Castiel said, eyes sweeping back up to Dean's face. Dean couldn’t tell if it was lewd joke about his size or not.

“Small miracles,” Dean said, getting to his feet.

“It is not a miracle. You are working for this. It is not just being given to you,” Castiel told him.

Dean shrugged. “I should make sure Sam isn't getting into any more trouble.” Not that he had any plans of actually checking on Sam; he was going to go back to his trailer and lock the door firmly until he got rid of the situation inside his tights.

“Go ahead. I will see you tonight?” Castiel asked, making no moves to return to the camp.

“I'll be there,” Dean agreed, turning his back and walking through the rain to collect his boots and coat from the tent before returning to his trailer. Sam was in the big tent practicing with Charlie; they weaved around each other, creating an awesome spectacle as Charlie blew fire while Sam wind-milled the poi.

Jo was sitting a few feet away watching them with an adoring smile. Dean didn't know how he'd missed that private smile she had just for Charlie; it was clear as day now as he gathered his things. She noticed him and waved, giving him a happy grin as well before going back to watching the pair.

Dean walked back toward his trailer, glancing out at the field. Castiel was on the ground again, seemingly just lying in the rain. Dean shrugged, climbing into his trailer and sliding the bolt into place.

He dropped his coat and boots on the floor as he walked toward the bed. He didn't know which ached more, his muscles from working out with Cas or his cock from being denied Cas. He tugged off his tights and sat down on his bed. He gripped his thighs for a second, looking out the window above his bed and still seeing Cas' outline through the rain.

His brain was quick to recall the way Castiel felt against him, pressing him into the soft ground. His muscles recalled the ache that Cas' weight created—the way he stretched Dean.

Dean looked down at his body. He shouldn't touch himself. He shouldn't let himself indulge in this infatuation. He should put thoughts of Castiel's body out of his mind, but the truth was that Dean was weak. He couldn't just think of something un-enticing and move on with his day.

Dean reached down between his legs and wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking it once firmly. His head tilted back as he felt the relief of pressure against his aching flesh. He stroked himself again, using his free hand to support himself, gripping the sheets tightly.

His mind recalled the outline of Castiel's strong thighs in his soaked tights. It followed them to the apex of his legs where his cock was prominent, pushing against the confines of the material.

Dean pinched the head of his cock thinking of how thick Cas was when he was hard. Even in the cold rain, he'd been big. Much bigger than the glimpse of him soft that Dean had gotten while he bathed.

Dean thought about pressing his lips to Cas through his tights. He thought about mouthing at it, hungry to get his lips around it, but Cas wasn't removing his tights just yet.

Dean laid back on his cot, lifting his knees and spreading them as he continued to stroke himself. He brought his other hand down to cup his balls as he pumped himself slowly. He was beyond the hasty and shameful search for release. If Cas was going to drive him mad with his body and desire to be Dean's _friend_ , then Dean was going to enjoy the madness.

He thought about how Castiel would push him back onto his heels as he lowered his tights just enough for his cock to spring free of its confines. Dean could almost feel the rain falling on his face as he looked up into Cas' eyes.

_“Do you want me, Dean?” he asked, gripping the base of his cock._

Dean mimicked the action with his own cock.

_“Do you want my cock?” he asked again._

_Dean's lips parted, raindrops covering his face as he panted, “yes.”_

_“Do you trust me, Dean?”_

_“Yes,” Dean whispered._

_Castiel brought his cock to Dean's parted lips. “Take all of me,” he told Dean, pushing into Dean's hot mouth, stretching his lips wide to accommodate his girth._

Dean stroked himself harder as he thought about Cas holding his jaw firmly as he sunk into his mouth. His toes curled in the thin sheets as he thrust up into his fist.

_“That's it,” Castiel said as his cock hit the back of Dean's throat. Dean couldn't speak around it, eyes watering. Castiel smiled down at him, rocking his hips back then pushing into Dean's mouth. “You enjoy me splitting you open,” Castiel said, rocking harder._

Dean thrust up harder into his own hand, his fingers squeezing his balls, trying to hold off his orgasm. He released his testicles, fingers dipping lower to brush against his hole.

_“You don't just want to suck me, do you, Dean? You want more, but you're afraid to ask for it. Always afraid to take what you want,” Castiel said, pulling free of his mouth._

_Dean gasped, feeling bereft without Castiel cock practically choking him. Castiel didn't wait for Dean to respond, manhandling him down into the mud. He pressed his hand to Dean's shoulders, pressing his face down against the wet ground, so his ass rose in the air._

_Castiel rocked against Dean's ass, his erection nudging against Dean's hole._

Dean pressed his fingers a little harder against his own ass. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them as he thought about Castiel pressing his fingers into his mouth. He sucked greedily before bringing them back down.

_“You want me inside you, Dean?” Castiel asked, circling Dean' with his finger. Dean nodded, spreading his legs just a little further as Castiel had showed him._

_Castiel lined up his cock and slid home._

Dean pressed his index finger inside himself as he imagined Castiel pumping into him. He cried out as he came hard, spurting out over his hand and stomach as his other hand continued to pump in and out of his ass, still swept up in the fantasy of Castiel taking him apart.

_“You look so good when you come,” Cas said, giving Dean one last thrust._

Dean panted hard as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm, clamping down on his finger and sending aftershocks up his spine. Dean groaned as he carefully removed his finger and wiped his hands on his quivering thighs.

He looked down at the mess he'd made of himself then he looked up at the ceiling, catching his breath. That had been shameful. He'd never fantasized like that before. However, just the thought of Castiel's cock once again sent a shiver through his body.

He sat up and looked out his window again, but Castiel's figure had disappeared from the field. Dean shook his head. Maybe he was going mad.

There was a loud banging on the door as he sat there. “Dean, open the damn door, it's a downpour out here!” Sam shouted from outside.

Dean cursed, grabbing a discarded shirt and dirty boxers and tugging them on. He wiped his hands again before staggering to the door, pretending he'd been sleeping as he opened it for Sam.

Sam pushed into the trailer, giving Dean a strange look as he dropped his equipment. “Were you having sex with someone?” he asked as Dean shut the door.

“What the hell are you talking about? I was sleeping. Cas worked me hard this morning,” Dean said, though at the mention of being worked hard, Dean had to fight down a blush.

“It smells like sex in here,” Sam told him skeptically.

“Well it wasn't me,” Dean insisted.

“Strange,” Sam said, removing his coat and putting his equipment in its chest. “I saw Cas on the way over here. He looked like he took a tumble in the mud again, and he was really out of breath,” Sam remarked, rubbing some of the water droplets out of his hair.

“Maybe he had a run in with Tristan. I left him a while ago,” Dean said, though his interest was undeniably piqued.

“That horse is far too vindictive for a normal animal,” Sam said, sitting down on his own cot and picking his book off the end table they both shared.

“That's why I like him,” Dean laughed. “I should probably see if Bobby needs my help with anything,” Dean said, pulling on pants and boots. He needed to get out of there and clean the come off his stomach before it dried.

“Yeah, you do that,” Sam dismissed him, turning the next page.

Dean stepped down into the rain, only realizing that he'd forgotten his jacket and his shirt was inside out once he was already outside. He cursed himself for being an idiot, but he went in search of Bobby anyway after using his handkerchief to wipe up his stomach.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Dean stepped out of his trailer a week later to do the final checks before the show that night. As he moved across the camp, he noticed Gabriel banging on the door of Castiel's trailer. Dean paused to watch as Castiel opened the door slowly.

Gabriel was quick to slip through the opening, and Cas was equally quick to shut the door again. Dean frowned; he'd seen Gabriel hang around Cas before, but Castiel rarely seemed to give him the time of day. Dean didn't know what to think. He and Gabe had been at odds since Dean joined the troupe. Gabriel was less hostile toward Sam, but Dean didn't trust the man at all. He wondered what Gabriel was up to and how it involved Castiel.

He and Cas had been butting head's less lately. Castiel had dedicated most of their time to working on Dean's flexibility. Dean wasn't so fond of the rigorous sessions that left his body feeling like it was being torn in two, but he couldn't deny that Castiel's methods were effective.

It didn't hurt that Cas had traded in his stoic orders for quiet encouragement and praise. It wasn't overdone, but Castiel made sure to nod his approval, or mention Dean was improving when the time was right.

Their time together was limited because Cas had performed every night. Evidently, word had gotten out that a famed European act had joined the circus, and people were crowding into the stands.

Dean hid every night, watching as Castiel performed. It was a different act every night—Castiel had free reign over what he chose to do, and he exercised it liberally. Some mornings he would ask Dean to help him set up the lyra, while others he'd ask for the silks or stationary trapeze.

Castiel was an expert at having his feet off the ground, and it showed as people came from far and wide to see his act. Just the night before, Castiel had put on a ten minute performance on the silks, manipulating and contorting his body into all manner of positions, and from the moment the spotlight found Castiel, the audience was entranced.

They would stand for five minutes clapping when he was finished, and Dean always slipped away as Castiel took his bow.

Dean's body hadn't gotten any less enamored by Castiel than the crowds had, and it was becoming frustrating to wander back to his trailer after every practice with nothing but Castiel's body on his mind. That wasn't to say that Dean didn't give plenty of thought to their act and the training Castiel had been putting him through.

Dean felt like he did nothing but pushups and stretches in his free time. Any time he wasn't doing chores for Bobby, he found himself dropping to the ground to work on his arms, or falling into a split. He was getting closer to a full split, and Castiel patiently praised his progress. Dean was certainly putting in the time to get his body into condition.

That night he walked across the camp toward the tent. He'd gone back to his trailer and pulled on his tights while the show finished up, and people headed back to their homes.

This was the final show before they moved onto the next city. Lawrence had been a long stop, but for the next two months they were sticking to five shows before packing up and moving on.

Castiel was hopeful that they'd be able to debut their act by the time they reached their next extended stay in Kentucky, two months from now. Dean wasn't so sure that he'd be able to perform a full act by then, but Castiel hadn't been wrong yet about him, so he was willing to hope that he would be ready.

Dean pulled up his collar against the breeze as he walked slowly towards the Big Top. He waved to Benny, who was waiting outside Pam's tent for her last customers to leave for the night. Pam never turned a person away even if it was getting late. Benny didn't seem to mind much, but as the wind kicked up, even he frowned at the cool weather.

Dean ducked through one of the entrances of the tent to find Castiel already up in the silks that he had performed in that night. He was upside down with his arms out to the sides, hanging only by his one leg with the other crossed at the knee.

Dean recognized the position from Pam's tarot deck, but he couldn't remember the meaning of the card. The Hanged Man, Dean's mind supplied. He'd never gotten it when Pam told him to take a card when he went to her for advice.

“They loved you tonight,” Dean called, pulling off his boots and coat.

“They'll forget me in a week,” Castiel said, not leaving the position he was in.

Dean frowned. Castiel never sounded so negative when he spoke of his act. Usually, he was the positive influence on Dean's negative energy.

“Did something happen?” Dean asked, taking the silks and beginning to climb. Ordinarily, Dean stretched before they began, but he wanted to know what was up with Cas before they started.

“I am far from home, in a strange circus, with people I barely know and who barely tolerate me,” Castiel said, eyes closed, just hanging above the ground.

“I tolerate you fine,” Dean said, coming to a stop just below Cas. Cas hadn't budged even at the addition of Dean's considerable weight.

Castiel snorted, opening his eyes and looking right into Dean's. “You've fought me. You've argued with me. You've been stubborn at every opportunity. I wouldn't call our partnership an easy one,” Castiel said.

“Sure, at first we had a few misunderstandings...”

Another snort.

“I've been trying, alright? You've been doing this for years; I've only been doing it for weeks. Until then, I was fixing what was broke and spending my nights wishing I was doing this,” Dean admitted, reaching up to touch Cas' strong shoulder.

“You have been doing very well,” Cas admitted, pulling his body up and releasing his leg from where it was locked into the material. Dean barely flinched as the silks jerked with the freed material.

“What's wrong tonight?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head, smiling though it didn't reach his eyes. “Let us go down and stretch. I have a small program I wish to try with you tonight. You have been showing impressive strength these last few days,” Castiel instructed him, climbing down beside Dean.

Dean didn't push him, though Cas' mood was troublesome, especially after seeing how enthusiastic the crowd had been tonight.

Castiel led their warm ups once they were on the ground, stretching his legs and encouraged Dean to try to reach the floor in his split. Dean was still a little ways off, but he tried to drop closer to the floor just for Cas. It hurt like hell, but he got a little further which was the whole point. Cas gave him a pleased smile, and it actually reached his eyes, so it felt worth the pain.

Castiel led Dean back to the silks when they were both thoroughly stretched, pointing up at the rigging where the two sides met.

“Until now, we've been using both sides of the silks together. Tonight, I want to block an opening that utilizes them both separately, but symmetrically,” Castiel explained. Dean nodded, but he didn't really understand what Cas was getting at. “I mean we will each take one of the lengths and do the same thing,” Castiel further explained, clearly understanding Dean's look.

Following Cas' lead, Dean took the thick material that he held out to him, waiting for further instruction.

“Stay down here and watch. Then we will do it together,” Castiel told him, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean nodded again, determined to pay attention to Castiel's movements.

Cas took three leaping steps in an arc, pulling himself up quickly. Dean watched him circle in the air, using the wrapping around his thigh to perform a stag pose. Then he climbed another body length and wrapped the silk around his ankle, falling to hang upside down again, free leg pointed straight away from his body.

“We will press our feet together here,” Castiel explained as his spinning slowed and he hung in position again.

“That's all?” Dean asked. That seemed easy enough; he knew his stag position wouldn't be nearly as clean as Castiel's, but he could do that.

“That is all. It will give us an opening, and it will be a good position to move on from,” Castiel explained as he lowered himself, still upside down.

Dean grabbed him under the arms, holding him as he dropped to his feet. “So, are we going to collide when I do this?” Dean asked as he took his length of material and wrapped his thigh as Castiel had spent an afternoon carefully showing him.

“Only if you do it wrong,” Castiel said, smiling at his own dry humor.

Dean rolled his eyes, motioning Cas over to check that he'd wrapped himself correctly. When Castiel gave his approval, Dean took two steps back as did Cas. “Three leaps then pull yourself up two arm lengths,” Castiel said before counting down.

Dean did the leaps, keeping his speed and stride even with Cas'. He pulled himself up and tried to lock his leg into the pose, but his leg was too loose and he fell out of the wrapping, landing hard on his knees.

Castiel was out of the silks before Dean could even try to pick himself up. He put pressure on Dean's shoulder to keep him down, and Dean laid back. He allowed Cas to check his legs, probing his skinned knees through the torn tights then stretching Dean's legs again.

“How do they feel?” Castiel asked, helping Dean back to his feet.

“I'll be fine, Cas. Let's do this again,” Dean told him, grabbing the material and wrapping it more securely. Castiel was more thorough in his inspection this time, and they got off to another steady start.

This time, Dean managed to pull himself up into the proper position, but his timing was off because he was too focused on not falling. They collided as Dean fell into the upside down position. Castiel was prepared for it though, and he gripped Dean by the shoulders before they could butt heads.

“Shit. That was me again,” Dean said, annoyed with himself.

“What did I tell you when we started working on the silks?”

“Fall down one hundred times, so I can succeed a thousand,” Dean reiterated the words that had become their motto over the last few weeks.

“Precisely. We are doing something new. It will not be perfect even by the end of tonight,” Castiel told him. He held his finger to Dean's lips when Dean opened them to retort. “Progress is not measured in perfection. If neither of us has a bloody face tonight, that will be success,” Castiel said.

“That's not very encouraging,” Dean retorted, pushing Cas' fingers away from his mouth before he had the urge to bite them.

“If you get a bloody nose, you will realize how encouraging I am being,” Castiel said, using the material to lower himself down again.

Dean got down as well, and they ran the opening again with much the same results. Castiel didn't get annoyed or correct Dean. He just told him to run it again.

By the seventh time, Dean was beyond frustrated, but Cas wasn't giving him any pointers. He just called for them to do it again.

“That's it? You don't have anything to say? No, 'Dean move faster'? No, 'be more careful on the swing down'?” Dean asked, tying the silk around his thigh with more force than necessary.

“The material is too tight. You will hurt yourself,” Castiel told him, pointing at Dean's leg.

“I know _that_. I'm frustrated that you aren't being helpful,” Dean said, loosening it up to the correct way Cas had showed him.

“You are not doing anything wrong. It is just a matter of doing it until we work out each other’s timing. Don't think about doing it right or wrong, that does not matter. Just concentrate on you and me. If we collide, that is fine. If we do it perfectly, that is fine as well. If we do something completely different, but we do it together that is also fine. No matter the outcome, I am going to say to do it again because it is not about perfection. It is about learning each other’s bodies and movements. Eventually, we will be able to do this without thought because our movements will be one,” Castiel explained, stepping into Dean's space and moving the material around Dean's thigh and waist to mirror his own. “Don't seek perfection, just focus on me,” he repeated, stepping back into position.

They collided midair, and it wasn't a gentle collision like the first. Castiel came away with blood all over his face, and Dean's sternum was well aware of just how hard Cas' face was.

Dean untied himself and helped Cas down as Cas tried to staunch the bleeding a little. He didn't complain, and he brushed off Dean's apologies. Dean ran to get his shirt for Castiel to wipe his face with, and Cas made quick work of pinching his nose and stopping the bleed. When he pulled Dean's shirt away, Dean gave his nose a look, but it didn't seem broken. That seemed like a miracle to Dean.

“Maybe we—”

“Again,” Cas said, wiping his hands on the shirt as well before going back to the silks.

Dean followed him, feeling awful for the damage he'd done. He got into position, and they did it again. It wasn't much better this time, but no one walked away bleeding.

By the time Dean's arms ached and Castiel declared the practice over, they had completed the opening in full only three times. They collided five times, and both of them were sporting bumps and bruises. However, Dean knew exactly how Castiel would move if Dean was off course and headed toward him. He knew exactly how Castiel boosted himself with his final leap to get good momentum.

Castiel had been right again. Dean was learning Cas. Maybe he wasn't succeeding very well at their program, but he was learning his partner's technique. He tried to tell himself that that was enough.

“You did well,” Castiel said, pressing his fingers to his groin muscle where Dean's knee had managed to get him fairly hard near the end.

“I beat you up,” Dean said, brushing Cas' hands away and gently spreading his legs to kneel between them. Castiel didn't fight him as he carefully pressed his fingers right beside the bulge in his tights.

Cas groaned as Dean worked at the tightness that had developed after the collision. He pressed his thumb into the muscle, watching Cas' face for signs of further discomfort. Cas didn't complain though, and as the muscle loosened, he spread his legs further to accommodate Dean.

“How is your face feeling?” Dean asked as he gripped Cas' thigh for leverage to massage deeper.

Cas smirked. “It feels as though you collided with it. Press a little higher,” he directed Dean, taking his hand and bringing it right into the crease where his leg met his groin.

Dean was too surprised by the action to come up with a retort, more focused on how his knuckles brushed Cas' cock as he pressed his fingers into the muscle and tendon there.

Cas tipped his head back and sighed as Dean continued to massage him. “Harder,” he said, reaching down to press Dean's fingers more firmly, but Dean complied immediately. “Just like that,” Cas sighed again, his whole body relaxing due to Dean's touch.

Dean couldn't ignore what his hands were doing to Cas' cock. He watched it slowly grow as he brought his other hand up to change the angle of his massage. Castiel didn't say a word about it though. He just allowed Dean to work, save for quick directions here and there.

When Castiel's legs were spread wide, and Dean determined that Cas had full range of motion, he eased his touches. Cas opened his eyes and looked down at Dean.

“I think you'll live,” Dean said, sitting back on his heels. Cas smiled tiredly, making no move to get up.

“Perhaps tonight, but tomorrow you may not go so easy on me,” Castiel teased back, reaching down to adjust himself as though Dean's face wasn't right there. He wasn't obnoxious about it, just casual as he relieved the pressure his tights were creating.

“You're the one that came up with this,” Dean reminded him, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Cas' face.

“I did, didn't I?” Cas said, still pressing his palm to his cock. He looked thoughtful, but there was still a tinge of sadness to his words.

“It's getting late,” Dean said, getting to his feet. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Cas sounded genuinely confused as he looked up at Dean, head cocked to the side.

“You didn't seem too pleased when I arrived,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his bare chest. It was either getting chilly in the tent or Cas was affecting him more than he wanted to admit.

Cas sat up, placing his hands on his knees and pushing himself to stand. “It is nothing. Just melancholia. I will be fine,” Cas said, brushing off his tights.

“That sounds like a fancy way of saying you feel like shit, Cas,” Dean said, stepping into Cas' space before Cas could dodge around him.

“You have your burdens, and I have mine, Dean. It is nothing to trouble yourself about.”

“You've done nothing but trouble yourself with my burdens since you got here. I don't think it's strange for me to want to help with yours,” Dean said, grabbing Cas by the arms to get his attention.

“I will be fine, Dean. I am just far from home,” Castiel replied, stepping back out of Dean's grasp and pulling on his coat.

Dean dressed as well, still worrying over Castiel but having the sense not to push it further. Castiel collected the lantern he'd been using to light the tent, and Dean followed him out into the night.

The camp was quiet. Dean hadn't realized how long they had been practicing, but even the nightly festivities had died down to just a few drunken performers sleeping around dying campfires.

Dean walked Cas to his trailer, standing at the bottom step as Castiel stepped inside. “Are you waiting for an invitation?” Castiel asked, turning back to face Dean.

“Oh, no. I was just making sure you...” Dean realized the silliness of making sure that Castiel got back to his trailer safely. He was a grown man, and he was just as capable of taking care of himself as Dean was. Not to mention, there wasn't much to worry about inside the camp.

“Thank you, Dean. Would you like a drink?” he offered, holding the door open wider.

“You don't drink,” Dean pointed out, rocking back on his heels.

“I may not drink often, but I try to be a competent host,” Cas said, giving Dean a challenging look.

“What're you offering?” Dean asked, glancing up at the star filled sky.

Castiel raised an eyebrow, and Dean scoffed. “Fine, fine, I'll come in for a drink,” he said, climbing the steps into Cas' trailer. Castiel turned to one of the cabinets and rummaged around in it as Dean shut the door behind him.

Castiel came back with two glasses and a bottle of clear liquor that had a label Dean couldn't understand. He wasn't even sure what language the words were written in.

“Interesting choice,” Dean said, holding up his glass as Castiel pulled the stopper on the bottle.

“It was a parting gift from my old partner,” Castiel said, pouring them each a liberal helping of the alcohol. He ran his finger over the rim of the bottle, before bringing it to his lips and licking up the drop of liquid.

“What should we toast to?” Dean asked, sloshing his own glass of liquor.

Castiel looked at the bottle for a long time before answering as though he could find the answers he was looking for in the foreign script instead of the liquid within. “To the fall, in all its inevitability,” Castiel said somberly.

He clinked his glass to Dean's and knocked the shot back in one gulp. Dean followed his lead, immediately choking on the vile drink. “What that hell kind of gift is that to give someone?” he asked, coughing loudly. Castiel didn't look bothered by it at all.

“Anna's theory was that when I felt down, this would remind me that all was not lost. It could certainly be worse,” Castiel explained, smiling fondly at the bottle.

“It does this by poisoning you?” Dean asked, still making a face at the awful taste that lingered on his tongue.

“It was part of our upbringing. You swallow what is bitter and you bear it. Then you move on. There is no time for feeling sorry for yourself.”

Dean paused for a moment. That sounded a lot like his father's philosophy actually. No complaining. Complaining was for the weak.

“And you miss that?” Dean asked instead. He already knew the answer. He felt the longing to go home every time they came back to Lawrence. He felt it on the train as they neared the city limits.

“The mind plays this trick on us, remembering the past as something better than it was, leaving us aching for something that only would pain us more,” Castiel said, pouring himself another drink. Dean waved him off when Castiel offered him another as well.

Dean watched him sip the drink like it was an aged scotch, seemingly savoring the burning of his own throat. Dean thought about what he'd said, and made a decision.

“Come with me. Bring the bottle if you want,” Dean said, getting up from the table. Castiel looked up in confusion but still slowly got to his feet. Dean led him out of the trailer and through the camp toward the fields. “I see why you don't drink that much if that's what you're used to,” Dean made small talk as they put distance between themselves and the cluster of trailers and tents.

When they got out into the field, beyond the groomed lawn of the fairgrounds and into the thick knee high grass, Dean turned to Cas. The dying fires and lanterns of the camp gave off little light, but Dean didn't have trouble seeing him; it was as though the darkness couldn't get a hold of him.

Dean noticed the way his trench coat hung open and baggy around his frame, swallowing up some of the power Castiel naturally exuded. The man in front of him looked defeated, and nothing like the man who had come before Dean full of fire and determination.

“After my mother died, my father didn't take it well. I don't think he meant to take it out on us, but he was broken without her. I'd have nightmares when I was young. All children do, I guess, but when I was too frightened to go back to sleep, I'd climb out my bedroom window and lie on the roof looking up at the stars. She always said angels were watching over me, and I guess that always made me feel safe, like if I was out there looking up, they could see me easier,” Dean said, looking up at the big open sky, speckled with thousands of stars. “One summer night, when I was getting older, I climbed out after a bad night, and I heard my father crying through his open window. I peeked in to see him reading some old letter. It was clearly from my mother, and I realized that he looked to her when he felt lost too. He wasn't a great father, but I think I understood him better after that. Even after we ran away, I still come out here and sit under the stars when I can't sleep,” Dean explained, taking a seat in the grass and leaning back.

Castiel sat down beside him. He didn't say anything, but he did look up at the stars with Dean.

“I understand what you were saying back there. I still miss home even though it wasn't much of a home. I still look up at the stars even though they've never solved anything for me. It just brings a different kind of pain with it.”

There was silence between them for a long time. Castiel studied the sky, and Dean studied Castiel, trying to see beyond the facade he'd built up. He wanted to see the man Castiel was behind the power and talent, behind the brilliant performances and patient lessons. There was a man with a history that brought him to Dean's doorstep, but Dean couldn't read that just from looking.

“We were starving when I was a child. Food was scarce, and conditions were not favorable. I was not trained by the best in the world to be a performer. I was cold and would sneak into the circus school to warm my frozen hands. I would sneak into the rafters and watch the students practice. I would mimic what they learned late at night when no one was around to catch me. It was my escape. I later used what I saw to perform for soldiers, in hopes that they would give a crust of bread or anything to eat. Little did I know that they did not have much themselves,” Castiel said, turning to look at Dean with penetrating eyes. His voice was steady even as he spoke of a troubled past.

“When the Germans invaded, I stole the coat and uniform of a dead soldier, and I fled with the army. I was a Captain by the end of the war. I had a talent for tactics, keeping my fellow soldiers alive if nothing else. Often, survival was the only real objective. Cannon fodder, I believe I have heard you Americans call it. When the war ended, I walked into the forest and lost the soldier's clothes. I had learned German and French during the war—working with various intelligence agencies—and I posed as a Frenchman. I met a young woman in Ukraine, and we began traveling together. We joined a caravan in Bulgaria, claiming we were acrobats, and the lie stuck. By the time I made it to France, I was Castiel the world's greatest acrobat and aerialist, trained in the Russian Circus and looking for a new life,” Castiel said, never taking his eyes off the sky.

Dean continued to look at his silhouette in the dark. He was at a loss for words. The man beside him had seen so many things and lived so many lies. Dean didn't know how he possibly kept it all hidden neatly behind his calm demeanor. It had to be horrifically lonely to keep it all hidden.

“Why didn't you go home after the war?” Dean asked, trying to read Castiel's facial expressions in the dark, but it was impossible.

“There was nothing to return to. I was not the man I claimed to be. I had no desire to fight for their cause, no desire to kill my own brothers for the good of the Union,” Castiel explained, sounding far too calm. “Anna had fought as well. She was in the Resistance. Even after the war, it was not safe for her. Surrender did not truly bring peace. When we met, we dreamed as big as we pleased because there was no farther to fall. What was death after all we had faced?”

“And they just hired you in Paris?” Dean asked. He couldn’t wrap his head around Castiel’s story. It was too fantastic, and yet it seemed to fit the man perfectly.

“Paris was broken after the war. They needed something to lift their spirits just as the rest of the world did. A man who claimed he could fly was as good a distraction as any.”

“And you just climbed the silks one day and flew?” Dean said in disbelief.

“No. It was trapeze then. Anna taught me much of what I do now. She was my partner in everything—survival and deception. She caught me when I fell. We had both come from nothing and seen so much that we held each other together those first few years. We traveled around, performing for any who would watch, and when no one would, we stole our food. Paris was our salvation. Until Anna fell in love. She lost sight of what we were doing. He was wealthy, and he came to see her perform every night. When she became with child, her career was over, and she couldn't be happier,” Castiel said, sitting up again.

“What happened to you after that?” Dean asked.

“I still performed. I worked with others, but once she had gone my ties to the others were tenuous. I was not well liked. I was a foreigner. I was a threat because I was too good. I didn't take direction well. When things began to fall apart, I considered returning home, searching for the life I could barely remember, a father whose face I could no longer see in my mind or a military friend.”

“What made you come here?”

“Anna. She had a connection here—a brother. He needed someone he could trust, and she sent me,” Castiel finished, putting his head in his hands.

Dean's mind reeled at all of the information he'd just learned. Everything he'd thought about Castiel—being too good for them, being too harsh and not understanding, being cold—all dissolved. Castiel had been flying with no safety net for years, just one step away from ruin...or worse.

“Why the circus? You could have been anything. You could have been...I don't even know, a carpenter. Why this?”

“Because we are the outcasts, the broken, the homeless. Together were are something more. Is that not why you are here? This is a family, and what we do brings a little light to the darkness,” Castiel said, pushing himself to his feet. “When I was freezing and starving, this is what kept me warm.”

“You must think I'm foolish,” Dean said, staying seated in the grass.

“I don't see why.”

“You've been through hell. You've had to fight your way through it, and here you are with me, who couldn't even find the courage to pull himself up those damn silks without you,” Dean said.

“In all I've seen, Dean, I've learned one thing, and that is to never judge a man's journey if you have not taken it yourself. In the war, we all marched, but not all had shoes on their feet or guns in their hands. To some, my journey seemed easy because I had those things, stolen as they were. So, no, I do not think you're a fool. I am sorry for bringing down your night though,” Castiel apologized. His coat flapped open in the wind as though he couldn't feel its chill.

“I don't mind. I'm glad you told me,” Dean promised. He felt like he saw Castiel as a real person now. He was still mysterious, but there was a beating heart in his chest and it ached just as Dean’s did.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel said, standing and walking back to the camp.

Dean scrambled to turn around. “You told me your story, but you never told me what you missed, what has you feeling down,” Dean said, pushing up to kneel. He’d had a taste of the real Cas, and now he needed more. He needed to know it all.

“I miss when the world was black and white. I miss the certainty of life and death, of being fed or starving. When Anna left, I saw it as a betrayal. She betrayed our cause, she betrayed me. Since I have come here, I do not think the world is so dichotomous, and while I know the past was not good by any means, I miss knowing I was right,” Castiel said, turning once again and not waiting for Dean’s reply. His shadow drifted through the sea of grass toward the camp, and Dean knelt there, watching him beneath the blanket of stars.

Dean stayed out there thinking about Cas and his own history. They were so different, but Dean couldn't help feeling a connection to him; he'd been fighting to survive too. It wasn't the same, but he understood what Castiel meant.

Dean remembered the small dancer in the music box, how she'd broken off when it shattered against the wall, still playing its tune. He remembered feeling like that dancer, broken and useless as the world still spun around him.

Dean pushed back his morose thoughts and got to his feet, wading through the grass back toward his trailer.

When Dean woke the next morning, Sam was already gone. It was moving day again, and there were plenty of things that needed to be done. Dean pulled himself out of bed, dressing himself and taking a drink from the pitcher of milk Sam had left on the table.

He stepped out of the trailer into the bustled of the moving troupe. Dean went straight to the tent, finding Bobby easily enough. Bobby gave him orders, and Dean quickly got to work.

Sam was helping today now that they were away from Zachariah's prying eyes, and the work went quickly.

It was as they were preparing the caravan for the train that Dean realized he hadn't seen Castiel at all that morning. He walked over to Castiel's trailer and knocked on the door. He received no answer, so he banged harder. Still, no answer.

Dean picked the lock on the door and stepped inside. The trailer was in disarray and stank of alcohol. The bottle from the night before was knocked over on the table, and the chairs were overturned, but there was no sign of Castiel.

Dean began to worry as he looked around the trailer for any clues as to his whereabouts. He opened cabinets and searched the bed. There was nothing to help him find the man. However, before he could search further, the door banged open.

Castiel staggered into the trailer looking like he'd been dragged behind Tristan for a quarter mile.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean asked, taking in the disheveled appearance.

“I went to watch the sun come up,” Castiel said, voice thick as cement.

“You what?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I went back to the field and watched the sun rise.”

“The sun rose five hours ago,” Dean pointed out, reaching to steady Cas as he moved toward his cot. “Cas, look at me,” Dean demanded as Castiel fell flat on his face on his cot.

Cas pushed himself up enough to look at Dean, and Dean crouched in front of him. He still had dried blood on his face from the night before, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I know I've been harsh on you, but you've had my back, and I want to have yours,” Dean said, but Cas' eyes rolled back and he was snoring before Dean could finish. “Yeah, just sleep whatever this is off. That's fine too,” Dean muttered, getting up and getting the trailer back in order before they had to go.

As he cleaned up the small table, he noticed a journal beside the now empty bottle. Dean wasn't going to read it, but as he lifted it up to move it to a safer place, a picture fell out of the cover.

Dean picked it up off the floor, and looked at it. He couldn't help himself. He was expecting perhaps a picture of the Anna Castiel had spoken of the night before. Perhaps a picture of the circus.

Instead, it was a photo of Castiel in uniform. He looked distinguished even if his words last night made note of just how undistinguished the reality was. He was still handsome in his uniform. He stood beside another man with a smattering of stubble, who had fairer hair and was grinning at Castiel as Cas stood overseeing something. Somehow, even without Castiel looking at the man, the picture gave off the sense that they had a close bond.

Dean didn't know what to think of it, so he placed it back in the journal beside a thick envelope and moved the journal to safety as he had originally planned. Dean couldn't shake the image from his mind though. Looking at Castiel passed out in his trailer, and thinking of the focused man in uniform, they were one and the same. That was what disturbed Dean most. It wasn't a stretch. He could easily see Cas leading men into battle. He could easily see him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed.

Everything fit, except that the man who spent hours teaching Dean to dance in the air was different somehow. Maybe that was what was troubling Cas. Maybe he knew it too.

Dean took care of everything for Cas as the troupe prepared to leave. He left his own things to Sam's capable hands, and once the animals and equipment were loaded they finally boarded the train, Dean gently rousing Cas from his sleep and helping him to the car they would sleep in.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel was back to business by the time the train pulled into their next station. Dean had watched him stagger to the facilities repeatedly as the strong winds rocked the cars. Dean had given him his space, knowing he himself hated to be seen when he felt that awful.

There was no party this time. Jo and Charlie were keeping their distance from each other when around others. Pam and Benny had holed up in their own bunk, treating the rest of the car to sounds of their lovemaking. Sam had hidden himself away. That left Dean to sit on his own bunk and watch Castiel recover from whatever he was facing alone in that complex mind of his.

The final time Castiel went into the tiny washroom, he came out looking put together once again. He'd changed clothes, putting on clean slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a waist coat. His hair was pushed back into place as much as it allowed itself to be, and his face was clean, the color having come back to it.

Dean's mouth went slack as he looked at how different Cas appeared from only minutes before. Castiel nodded at him as he walked back to his bunk, straightening the sheets and placing his dirty clothes back into his small bag.

Dean watched him bend over the bed, his pants clinging to his ass and giving Dean quite the view. Dean bit his lip as Cas bent even further to retrieve his wallet from where it had gotten caught beside the wall.

When Cas pulled back, he looked over his shoulder, completely catching Dean staring at him. “Is there something on my pants, Dean?” he asked, and while his voice was steady, Dean knew he was laughing at him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Those are tight, Cas. You need to be careful when you wear them. Wouldn't want to split them,” Dean said, trying to sound serious.

“No, we wouldn't want that,” Cas agreed, straightening up. “I will see you tonight,” he said, walking out of the car toward one of the dining cars at the front.

Dean groaned as the door of the car shut again. Clearly, Cas was feeling much better. Dean was about to go back to sitting in silence when he heard Benny start to laugh.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Did the Frenchman just catch you staring at his derriere?” Benny asked from behind the curtain to his and Pam's bunk.

“Go ahead, laugh about it,” Dean said. “You didn't see how tight his pants were.”

“I'm sure his pants were not the tightest in the cabin,” Pam chimed in.

Dean felt himself blush, glancing down at his own pants which were indeed very tight at the moment. “Go back to having loud sex, will you?” Dean grumbled, removing a novel from his own bag and opening it to where he left off last.

“Maybe you'd like to join us. Blow off a little steam?” Pam offered.

“Reading,” Dean said.

“No fun,” Pam retorted, but she didn't proposition him again. Giggling as Benny no doubt took Dean's advice and got back to the job of pleasuring his wife.

Dean blocked out the sound of it as he focused on his book. He hadn't had much time to enjoy it since Castiel had arrived, and it was good to take a moment to himself.

Castiel's attitude changed after their night of revelations and the following train ride. He was more open with Dean. He still didn't talk at length about his past, but if Dean was having trouble with a maneuver, Castiel would often explain how he'd learned the move.

Castiel admitted that he had actually broken his wrist the first time he climbed the silks. It had been Anna who told him to climb back up. However, all of his education had not been so harsh.

Castiel spoke of times he could not master a split or a transition. Anna would do it with him over and over until he finally succeeded, much as Castiel did with Dean. She would sit on his back when he did pushups, and she would stretch his legs for him.

The more Dean learned about their act, the more he realized that everything Castiel had been doing with him was a sign of great friendship and trust.

Cas turned to him one day as they watched Sam practice, studying him hard then looking back at Sam. “You move alike,” he said after a moment.

“We do?” Dean asked, studying his brother's movements as well.

“You do. I could see you out there mirroring him perfectly. Why did you never consider a doubles act? You would have worked in perfect harmony,” Cas asked, never taking his eyes off Sam.

“Acts are dangerous,” Dean said, still trying to see what Cas saw.

“No all are so dangerous as ours, and with practice—”

“That's not what I mean. Acts come and go. You stop making money for Zachariah, and you find yourself without a job or a home. I didn't want to take that risk, and I didn't want Sam taking that risk,” Dean explained. “For all the good that did.”

Castiel turned to him again, smiling. “Sam dreams big. There was little you could have done to stop that.”

“I know,” Dean agreed, still amazed by how talented Sam was with the torches.

“I would like to speak to Michael about allowing he and Charlie to perform their act together,” Castiel said, but Dean shook his head.

“No, Zachariah has to approve all acts. If he even hears mention of Sam, he'll...”

“Zachariah is only concerned with the bottom line. If I can speak to Michael, he will allow them to debut, and by the time word gets to Zachariah, they will already be a sensation,” Castiel assured him, but Dean didn't believe him.

“I can't take that risk, Cas.”

“You aren't taking it. Sam is. He has worked just as hard as you have. Does he not deserve to achieve his dreams as well?”

Dean looked away as the panic crept up his spine. He did want Sam to succeed, but he was afraid of what it would cost. “He does,” Dean admitted. He was unable to lie to Cas’ face, not after what Cas had revealed of himself.

“Things will turn out as they should,” Cas said, patting Dean's thigh. His hand lingered there as they continued to watch Sam dance. Castiel began rubbing soothing circles against Dean's inner thigh, and Dean was surprised when it actually helped to ease the tension from within him.

Dean found himself leaning into the touch, and eventually leaning against Cas, shoulder to shoulder as they watched. When Sam was finished, he jogged over to them, covered in sweat and smiling brightly.

“How did it look?” he asked, taking a sip of water from the jar he had rested on the bench.

“Phenomenal,” Castiel told him, hand still resting on Dean's leg.

Dean inched back into his own space, and Castiel let him go without a word. “You looked good, Sammy,” he said when Sam turned to him, looking eager.

“Really? You aren't just sayin' that?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “You look great, Sam. Cas has something he wants to talk to you about,” Dean said, putting Cas on the spot.

“What's that?” Sam asked, turning back to Castiel.

“If you wouldn't mind, I would like to speak to Michael on your behalf. Ask him to allow you to perform with Charlie here,” Castiel told him, sounding just as serious as when he'd mentioned it to Dean.

“Really?”

“Of course. You are very talented, and you should be performing with us,” Castiel said, sitting up a little straighter now that Dean was no longer resting against him.

“I would be grateful. Do you think he'll let me?” Sam asked, taking a seat just below them. Dean could see the wheels turning in his mind already.

“I do. I have already spoken with Charlie. She is eager as well.”

Sam seemed completely dumbstruck by the news, and Dean was proud of him for getting to where he was. He still felt the anxiety in the back of his mind though.

Dean begged off practice after that, telling Cas to go get his talk with Michael over with. Sam went to find Charlie and wait with her for the verdict. Dean went back to their trailer and dug out the bottle he was keeping hidden.

Jo was the one that came to find him. She didn't knock before entering, and she didn't ask before taking a swig from the bottle. She sat down across from him, legs straddling the back of her chair, and she looked at him good and hard.

“When Ma and I came here, I was the little girl no one took seriously. Everyone pulled my pigtails or pinched my cheeks. You weren't like that. You listened when I spoke. You teased me, but you never dismissed me. I fell in love with you when you taught me how to throw a knife. You were so patient, and you never doubted I could master it. You let me succeed. I could never understand why you didn't let Sam do the same… No, let me get this out,” she said, raising a finger to his lips when he opened them.

“Ten years I've been wonderin' 'bout that. Then last week it hit me. You see Sam the way Ma sees me. I remember her breaking your nose when she heard what I'd done to Zachariah. I'd never been spanked so hard in my life, but I already had what I wanted. But it was different with Sam. As much as he's your equal, you're still his parent, and you still can't let him grow up. You vouched for Charlie and me without a second thought to my mother, but you can't see you're doin' the same to Sam,” she said, pouring more whiskey into his cup. She took another swig from the bottle before continuing, wiping her chin on her sleeve.

“So, I'm here to stand up for Sam. He ain't gonna up and leave you because he's grown up. He ain't gonna stop being your brother because he's found something that's just his. And he ain't gonna stop lovin' you just because he loves someone else too. That's my speech, Dean. We all know you love him more than life, and you'd do anything for him, but right now, you've got to let him be himself.” She took another pull from her bottle and stood up. “We're celebrating in Pam's tent as soon as Cas comes back. You need to be done with this soul searching by then and get your ass over there. And while you're at it, tell yourself to stop dancing around Castiel,” she said, walking back out and leaving him to think.

Dean wasn't shocked by her words. Jo had always been blunt. That was part of what he'd loved about her, even when she was only eleven years old and too feisty for her own good.

He looked at the bottle for a long minute before putting the stopper back in it, sighing as he sat back in his seat. His world was changing too fast, and he didn't think there was any way to be ready for it. He just needed to run with it and try his hardest to keep up.

Dean put the bottle away and splashed some water over his face, before pulling on some real clothes instead of tights. He heard a commotion outside as he was pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. He glanced out the window to see everyone crowding around Sam's massive form to congratulate him.

Dean ran his hand through his hair and stepped out of their trailer. Sam looked over at him as he opened the door, a grin wide across his face. Dean returned the smile, giving Sam a small nod before stepped down into the dirt.

Dean followed the group to Pam's tents where they already had a fire burning and plenty of alcohol. The drinks were quickly poured and toasts began immediately. Everyone seemed to have something they wanted to say. Most of them said, “finally.” Dean took a cup and raised it with the others.

Castiel appeared at Dean's side as the toasts dissolved into raucous stories about Sam growing up with the troupe. Castiel didn't have a cup of his own, and Dean offered over his, but Castiel shook his head.

“I learned my lesson last time,” Cas said, bumping their shoulders.

“You're a hero,” Dean teased him. His mood was still off, but he was happy for Sam.

“I doubt they even realize I did anything,” Cas said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. He too had put on clothes, though no one else had bothered. Most were still in practice costumes, which didn't consist of all that much more material than show costumes.

“Well, you're a hero to Sam, and what you did means a lot to me too,” Dean told him, finishing his drink with a large gulp.

Cas shook his head, brushing off the praise. “You are my friends. It was nothing.”

“No, Cas, you saved us from getting kicked out when I'd been nothing but hostile toward you. You've taught me so much, and now you've done this for Sam. I can never repay you for all you've done for us,” Dean insisted, gripping Cas' arm.

“There is nothing to repay, Dean. I hold no debt over you,” Cas said, looking down at where they were connected.

“I do owe you, Cas,” Dean said softly, letting Cas go and reaching to refill his cup as Pam passed with a jug of wine.

Cas grabbed Dean's wrist before he could lift it to drain his cup. “Dean, I would gladly do it all again.

“I know, Cas. That's why I owe you. I know you'll always have my back,” Dean said, not fighting Cas about his drink and allowing Cas to lower his arm.

Castiel looked away, and Dean could detect a slight blush on his cheeks. “Thank you, Dean. That means a great deal,” he said, letting go of Dean's wrist, but Dean didn't take a drink just because he was free to.

They stood next to each other and just watched as the troupe sang and danced in celebration. The show that night would definitely be interesting—Sam and Charlie might be the only ones sober enough to actually perform if everyone kept it up.

Dean felt Castiel tense as Gabriel joined the celebration, snatching the cup out of Dean's hand as he walked past and downed the whole thing. He walked right up to Sam and planted a smacking kiss on him.

“Congratulations, Sammy. Couldn't have happened to a nicer giant,” he said, pinching Sam's cheeks obnoxiously.

Sam laughed and went with it, but Dean frowned. He still didn't trust Gabriel. The man was always up to no good. Castiel didn't calm even as they lost Gabe in the crowd of people.

“You alright, Cas?” Dean asked, but Castiel shook his head, signaling to Dean not to inquire about it. Dean frowned, but he didn't push, not here.

That night, Dean actually stayed for the entire show, waiting backstage while Sam freaked out. He paced the area behind the curtain taking deep breaths. He was actually pretty calm considering how much was riding on his performance. Gabe made sure to remind of that before Benny chased him off.

Pam rested a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder before he went out and whispered in his ear. He seemed to perk up after that, picking Charlie up and giving her whirl before putting her down and getting into position.

Cas stood next to Dean as they ran out, batons in hand and smiles on their faces. “He will do well,” Cas said, and it was only then that Dean realized he was biting his lip and holding his breath. Dean let it out and smiled at him.

“I know,” he said, allowing Cas to squeeze his shoulder in sympathy.

Sam and Charlie both did a running flip as they entered, lighting their batons in the center fond as they landed. It was impressive, and Dean had to admit that even though there was nearly a foot difference in height, they were perfectly in sync.

They spun around each other, twirling their batons in wide arcs. Sam came to a halt in the center of the ring and brought the flame almost to his lips. Charlie danced around him as he breathed out, sending the flame feet away from him as though he was breathing fire.

Charlie came to a halt at his back to do the same as he tumbled forward to pick up the poi. Charlie picked up hers as well and they lit them together, facing each other. They started slowly, keep the apparatuses in tight movements, but soon they were weaving them around their bodies, dancing around each other as they did so.

Dean's breath caught at how incredible it was to see all together with the lights down low, so all there was to see was the lights dancing from the shadows.

“They are very good,” Cas said, sounding amused.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Dean groused, but he was too impressed to be angry. He almost ran out there and dragged Sam back when Charlie climbed up onto his shoulders and they started moving again, their poi never touching or tangling, but moving in complete synchronization. “Christ!” Dean gasped as Charlie very carefully moved to stand on Sam's shoulders instead of sitting. She balanced as he moved gracefully despite her weight, never missing a movement.

The act ended with Charlie jumping off of Sam's shoulders twirling with the poi as she went.

The crowd erupted in cheers for the unique act, and Dean felt like he could both breathe easy now that it was done and like he couldn't catch his breath because it had been so spectacular.

Castiel patted his shoulder again, smiling before stepping away as Sam came bounding back to ask Dean how he'd liked it. Dean congratulated him, hugging both him and Charlie before telling Sam he could use a shower. Sam blushed, but he continued to grin and stay with Dean as the rest of the show went on.

Castiel reappeared before his act. Dean's jaw almost dropped as he looked at the tiny striped shorts he wore and the thin suspenders. The costume was downright lewd, but Castiel walked proudly to the curtain.

He looked a little uncertain as he waited for his cue. “Will you stay?” he asked, turning to look at Dean.

“Of course,” Dean said, leaving out the fact that he always watched Castiel perform.

“Thank you,” Cas said, stepping out as Michael announced him.

Dean watched him begin to dance even before the spotlight found him. He ran on his toes only to slow down and pirouette, falling out of it and up into an arabesque. He took his time reaching the center of the ring where his silks hung down, and as he reached them, he pulled the material open wide, and cocooned himself within.

There was a moment where the music slowed, and Dean couldn't even tell if Cas was still in there. Then one of Castiel's hands pressed against the material, Dean assumed he did the same on the other side. He did an arabesque, his arm and leg poked out both sides of the silks, and them Cas gathered it and leaped into the air, taking long lunges to send him spinning.

Cas lifted his legs and climbed, before locking his leg into place and hanging by his foot as he continued to spin. He went into the hanged man position before bringing his leg down completely into a full split.

Dean was mesmerized by how fluidly Castiel moved. It was only him and the music. Dean had never seen him practice this routine before and he wondered if even Cas knew what he would do next; it was an inverted cross, his arms out wide, wrapped in the material as his legs pointed up at the ceiling.

The crowd loved it, cheering loudly as he began to free fall, only to come to a stop, feet above the ground, bringing his legs down and kneeling on the floor of the tent.

Dean felt like he was having a heart attack as Cas pulled the silks together, swinging them in the air. He slowly climbed again, wrapping his hand this time in the silks and hanging by his arm. He brought his leg up and secured that as well, hanging in an arabesque.

Dean watched with bated breath as Castiel floated up and down the voluminous material, until he came to a stop about half way up. He arranged the silks so that he was lying on his side, legs out straight and pointed and arms out as well. Then he went into free fall, spinning as the loose material pulled him around.

There was a gasp that went through the entire tent and backstage area as Castiel neared the floor, only to stop himself mere inches from it. The crowd went crazy, but Dean felt like he needed to sit down.

Cas came backstage again looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Are you out of your mind?” Dean asked, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and looking him over.

“No,” Castiel said stoically.

“Really? You nearly died out there!” Dean argued, turning Cas around and checking his back and legs, running his hands all over Cas' body to make sure he was really fully intact.

“It was just part of the act, Dean. It is to build suspense,” Castiel assured him, standing there and letting Dean fret over him.

“It's never been a part of the act before,” Dean said, feeling completely within his rights as Cas' partner to worry about his wellbeing.

“You've never come to see my act before,” Cas pointed out.

“I watch you every night,” Dean admitted, but he immediately realized him mistake, because Castiel looked very surprised.

“You've never come.”

“I have a spot I can watch from beneath the stands,” Dean told him, trying to fight back his embarrassment at being caught.

Castiel smiled. “The Phantom of the Circus,” he said, tilting his head as though he was seeing something new about Dean.

“Go ahead, laugh at me,” Dean said, but Castiel didn't.

“No, I've seen the book in your trailer. _The Phantom of the Opera._ I assumed it was Sam's as he always seems to be reading,” Castiel told him, still smiling.

“You still haven't told me why you almost got yourself killed tonight,” Dean said, changing the topic from his choices in literature.

“I thought it would be the first time you saw me...I wanted to impress you,” Castiel said. This time it was his turn to look uncomfortable with what he had just admitted.

“Let's go, line up for the parade,” Gabriel said, cutting behind Castiel. “Back up lovebirds, we still have a show going on.”

Dean restrained himself from punching Gabriel as Castiel was forced to step forward, right into Dean. Their chests pressed together, and Dean forgot to take a step back himself.

“Did I succeed?” Castiel asked, his lips right beside Dean's ear.

“Succeed at what?” Dean replied, forgetting everything but the press of their bodies.

“Were you impressed?” Cas asked, and it sounded far too seductive even though he could barely hear Cas over the continuous applause.

“I thought you were about to break your neck.” Castiel didn't say anything, and neither of them moved out of each other’s space. “Dammit Cas, yes, I was impressed. Are you happy?”

“Incredibly,” Cas retorted, pulling back and running to catch the end of the parade as they went out for their final bows. Dean cursed, stepping into the shadows and going back to his trailer. He felt raw and turned on, and he couldn't get Cas' performance out of his head. Castiel had wanted to impress _him_.

The celebration continued into the night after Michael congratulated Sam and Charlie. He’d even promised to speak with Zachariah about making it a permanent feature.

Dean sat on the steps of his trailer, sipping a beer as people danced around the large fire they'd built in the center of the camp. Everyone seemed to be happy—even Charlie and Jo were dancing together as Ash played guitar.

Sam was very drunk and sitting between Jody and Gabe. He swayed from side to side waving his hands as though to explain something very important. Dean just smiled; it was good to have a reason to celebrate. It felt as though it had been a lifetime since they'd all had reason to be happy.

Castiel walked over to Dean, smelling like he had bathed after the performance—the smell of sweat and chalk didn't cling to him as it did some nights when they practiced.

“A successful night,” Dean said as Cas stood beside the steps.

“It was,” Castiel agreed.

“Why don't you have a cup? You can't abstain when you're the reason this celebration was possible,” Dean said, but Castiel shook his head.

“We went through this this afternoon,” he retorted, smiling at Dean's persistence.

“I don't want you to feel left out,” Dean admitted, remembering what Cas had said about his previous circus and the rats.

“I always feel welcome with you, Dean.”

“That's a lie. I tried to drown you in a puddle of mud,” Dean said, moving to the side to make room for Cas.

Castiel took the offered spot, sitting practically on top of Dean on the narrow steps. They managed to fit, but they were pressed together.

“We didn't understand each other at first, but now, I think we do,” Castiel said, looking down at his hands.

Dean could smell hint of perfume on Castiel as he bumped their shoulders together. It was intoxicating, making Dean want to press his nose to Cas’ neck. He held himself back by taking another sip of his beer.

“We should be practicing,” Dean said, grasping at somewhere safe to take the conversation.

“We have earned a night off, unless you'd rather be in the tent,” Castiel said, and Dean detected a hint of challenge there.

“I almost did the split this morning. Maybe this week,” he said.

“I think you'll have it before then,” Cas told him, sounding proud of him.

They watched as Charlie and Jo pulled others into their dancing. Even Meg looked happy as she held one of her snakes beside the fire.

Dean yawned, leaning back against the steps. Castiel looked at him, studying him as he did so often these days. “Why the Phantom?” he asked, clearly not through with the topic.

Dean shrugged. “I've always felt sorry for him. Unloved, disfigured, isolated...”

“You are not Erik, Dean. You are loved. There is nothing blackening your soul as you might think, and if you'd let yourself free you would not feel so isolated from the rest of them,” Castiel said, squeezing Dean's thigh.

“You think you know everything now?” Dean asked, though there was no fire in his words. He couldn't deny that he had identified with the Phantom when he'd first read the story.

“I know enough to know you are a good man,” Castiel said, leaning in so he could look Dean in the eye.

Dean smiled sadly. No one had ever called him a ‘good man’ before. His father had called him a poor excuse for one. He'd been called a scoundrel. “Good men don't think the things I do,” Dean admitted, recalling all of the times he'd fantasized about Castiel.

Castiel didn't say anything, instead leaning just a little closer. Dean thought Castiel meant to kiss him; their noses almost touching as Castiel looked deep into his eyes, as though searching for this imagined blemish on his soul. “I think you're just as afraid of being a good man as you are of wanting something for yourself. Whoever told you otherwise was wrong, Dean. I've never met a man more selfless than you,” Castiel said after a long moment.

“You must have met some characters then because I'm not that great, Cas,” Dean brushed it off, but Cas took Dean's chin in his hand and held it gently.

“Don't belittle yourself,” he chastised.

Dean's breath caught as Castiel's eyes fluttered closed. Dean felt himself closing the distance, but before their lips could touch, Sam blew wine onto a torch sending a huge flair into the air.

Dean jumped back as the crowd of people cheered. Sam did it again, and Dean looked at Cas, who was still sitting in his space, looking up at him with hunger in his eyes.

“I need another drink,” Dean said, scrambling up the stairs into his trailer and letting the door bang closed. Dean went to the table and placed his hands on it, leaning there, trying to understand what he'd been about to do.

He'd almost kissed Cas in front of all those people. Even if most of them weren't paying attention, someone was bound to have seen them.

Dean cursed himself for being so foolish and negligent. He picked up his only half empty beer and downed the rest of it, before walking over to his cot to take a seat. The bonfire was visible through his window, and he watched as Sam and Charlie danced around it happily.

Thinking about Cas' words just moments ago, Dean didn't feel like a good man. He felt like a coward who was hiding in his trailer because he couldn't face Cas because he couldn't trust himself around Cas.

Dean tried to pull himself together, but before he could go back outside, he saw Castiel get off the stairs and pull up the collar of his coat. Dean could tell he wasn't happy as he walked slowly back to his trailer.

What was he doing? Dean cursed himself again as he laid down on his cot. He sat back up after only a moment, looking at the shelf over his bed where his meager collection of books rested. _The Phantom of the Opera_ was there and beside it was _Player Piano—_ he'd purchased it as a birthday present to himself when he'd taken the afternoon off from working with Bobby to go to a real book store. He'd found his way to the science fiction section, and spent over an hour reading the backs of books searching for the perfect one.

One of the shopkeepers had found him around closing, and she'd smiled when she saw him reading cover after cover. She'd suggested _Player Piano_ , telling him she'd loved it, and that she thought he would be able to appreciate it. Dean was only halfway through it, but he already loved it. He'd looked for more of Vonnegut's stories the last time he'd happened through the library, but there was nothing else.

Dean went over to pick up his book, but as he lifted it off the shelf, an envelope fell out with it. He looked down at it as it landed on his bed and saw _Miss Jessica Moore_ written on it in Sam's handwriting.

Dean picked up the envelope, but it wasn't sealed yet. He just stared at Sam's neatest script for a long moment, knowing it was none of his business to read it, but he couldn't put it down. Sam shouldn't have been writing to her. He should have cut off all contact. He should have learned his lesson...but Sam claimed that was impossible because he loved her.

Dean opened the envelope and removed the letter within it. He lit his lantern, so he could see the tiny writing instead of depending on the glow of the fire outside.

 

_Dearest Jessica,_

_I miss you more every day. I hope this letter finds you well, and I hope that your uncle has not seen fit to punish you further for our love. I promise you I will return to you soon. Castiel tells me that Paris is beautiful in the spring time, and I cannot wait to take you there._

_It has been only days since I last wrote you, but there is so much to tell. Dean has let me practice while he and Castiel do. I never thought he would ever approve of my act, but since Castiel has joined the troupe, Dean has changed so much. He is still my brother, and he is prone to his moods, but there is something about him now. I cannot explain in words what it is, perhaps a lightness when he isn't fighting it. And the way he looks at Castiel. It is like he's found his other half. He would kill me if he ever heard me say this, but I think Castiel means more to him than he will admit. They fight constantly of course, but Dean fights with everyone he cares about._

_I digress, Jessica. I have been practicing, and Castiel has told me he has seen few fire dancers so fine as me. He said it is a unique skill not utilized by the American circuses and that a duo routine would surely bring in many spectators. Charlie believes so as well. If only Zachariah would give me a chance, but I fear that is unlikely to happen now. I remain positive though. Charlie told me that good always prevails._

_Until then, I fall asleep every night thinking of your sweet face. I know you cannot write me back, and I am too far now to visit, but I wish I could see your face again. It is with you that I belong, and I fear I shall not rest easy until you are in my arms again and at my side forever. I know I have no ring for you, but I promise I will get you the ring you deserve once I am earning a performer's pay. Until then, know that the love in my heart is greater than any stone could possibly signify._

 

_All my love,_

_Samuel Winchester_

 

Dean didn't know when Sam learned to write so flowery, but he could admit it was a sweet letter. He wanted to hold it to his brother's face and ask what he thought he was doing, but he read it a second time, pausing over the paragraph about himself. Was he really that different since Castiel arrived? He wanted to hit Sam for sharing his business with an outsider, especially speculation such as this.

Dean was tempted to tear up the letter and burn it, but instead folded it back up and placed it back between his books. What Sam had been thinking hiding it there was beyond Dean. Still, it was probably safer there than most places, since Dean rarely had time to read when they weren't actually on the train traveling.

Dean sat there for a long time. He'd meant to read to ease his mind or at least give him something else to think about, but now he had even more on his mind and still no answers.

Dean looked out the window. People were still drunkenly celebrating; they probably had little idea what exactly they were celebrating at this point, but they were doing so with as much enthusiasm as they could muster.

Dean stood up and pulled off his pants and shirt, changed into tights and pulled his clothes back on. He stepped out of the trailer, holding his lantern, and walked past the crowd of people towards the tent. Once safely inside, he hung the lantern and began to remove his clothing.

Taking the silks in hand, Dean began to climb. He focused on his legs and keeping his shoulders from getting tight. He focused on keeping his expression neutral if not smiling. He focused on his body and the material, and he blocked the rest out.

He used to take Bobby's old truck for a drive when the noise in his brain became too much, but tonight instead of him and the open road, it was him and the silks.

In his mind the music box played that tinny waltz, and he moved to the notes that only he could hear. He secured his leg and hung like Cas had the other night, letting his arms hang down before gathering the material and securing it about his waist. He let his foot loose and hung there holding his body out straight. Bringing his leg up, he tried to perform a split, but he didn't quite get there. It was of little consequence though—this wasn't about perfection.

Dean gripped the material again, holding himself straight up and down, and began to swing his legs to get some momentum in the silks. He pulled his body up and secured his leg and arm, falling into a painful arabesque and hanging there as the song looped in his head.

Dean didn't know how long he dancing for in the air. His body ached and he was covered in sweat, but he continued to move. Movement kept the world at a distance. It kept his troubles from catching him.

Dean was hanging upside down again when he felt the silks go taut. He didn't move though; he kept his eyes closed and left himself to the intruder's mercy.

“I couldn't sleep,” Cas called up to him softly, though it sounded loud in the silence of the tent. The festivities were a faint whisper through the thick material of the tent. “I went to your trailer to speak to you, but you weren't there,” he continued, swinging the silks as Dean had done for him on occasion. Dean swung back and forth as he hung there, wondering for a second if this was what it was to fly. “I have never seen you perform like this before,” Castiel said when silence fell again.

“How long were you watching me?” Dean asked. He hadn't felt eyes on him, but Castiel's eyes were always on him. It was hardly an uncomfortable sensation anymore.

“Long enough to know what you're feeling, and to know that you have more passion in you than anyone I've worked with,” Castiel said, pulling the silks taut again.

Dean sighed, freeing himself and climbing down. “The question is, what are you feeling, Cas? I feel like for all I push you away, you still know me better than I know you. For all this 'I want to be your friend' stuff, you still don't open up to me all that much,” Dean said, standing in Cas' space the way Cas always did to him when he wanted answers.

“I tried, but you ran away,” Castiel replied, meeting Dean's eyes with his steady gaze.

“You told me I was a good man and then you tried to kiss me. Someone could have seen us, and then where would we be?” Dean demanded, stepping forward until their chests almost brushed.

“I won't take back what I said. I know you're scared, but I told you I would catch you if you fell.”

“And what happens if you fall too, Cas? What happens when one of us can't hold the other and ourselves? What happens when the silks slip, and we're both left falling?” Dean asked, gripping the lapels of Cas' trench coat tightly. He could feel Cas' hot breath against his face, could smell his perfume mixed with something headier, something he recognized from his own moments of stolen pleasure. It was intoxicating and maddening.

“The only way to learn to fly is to fall, Dean.” Cas' voice was nothing more than a whisper as he put his hands on Dean's hips. “I've walked away from my home, from the military, from my best friend, from my partner. I've walked away from everything to survive. I've never questioned those things until I met you. I thought Paris was heaven and coming here my exile, but I had it wrong. That's how I feel, Dean. That's how I feel because of you because of the man you are and what you do here.”

No one but Cas had ever spoken to him that way, and Dean didn't know what to say. They continued to stand there, staring at each other, holding each other up. Then Cas moved, took that final step forward, and pressed their bodies together. Dean felt the breath leave his lungs as Cas leaned in slowly as he'd done earlier.

This time no one interrupted them, and Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's softly. Dean didn't pull away, just standing there as Cas moved his lips, changing the pressure.

Dean's brain seemed to catch up all at once, and he opened his mouth just slightly, pressing back against Cas. It wasn't deep or demanding, but when they pulled away Dean was out of breath, as though they'd kissed for hours instead of moments.

“I don't know how I feel, Cas. I know what I want, but I've never been very good about taking that,” Dean admitted, pressing his forehead to Cas'.

“What if it's given freely?”

“Never been great with handouts either, Cas. Sorry you picked such a screw up,” Dean said, pulling back just a little as his self-deprecating humor peeked through.

Cas smiled. “Maybe we can work on it. A little at a time, like your splits?” he suggested, voice husky with desire.

Dean shook his head, smiling. “Don't ever change, Cas,” he said, pulling Cas in for another kiss. “Only you would compare a relationship to the most excruciating process I've even taken part in, and try to make it sound like a selling point.”

“Is that a yes?” Cas asked, frowning.

“Slow, we'll see if I can do slow,” Dean said, letting go of Cas and stepping back. Castiel had a determined glint in his eye, and Dean had a feeling that Castiel was taking this as another challenge.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Castiel asked, pointing up at the silks.

“I don't know what I was looking for. I just wanted to escape my troubles for a while,” Dean admitted.

“You looked beautiful up there.”

“Thanks. I'm nothing compared to you,” Dean said.

Cas pressed his lips just below Dean's ear. “I've never seen anything so beautiful as you dancing just for me.”

“I didn't even know you were here.”

“Maybe you should do it again then.”

“Not tonight. I still have to make sure Sam makes it to bed,” Dean said, turning to gather his things. Castiel didn't protest, and he walked with Dean back to the fire to find Sam.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Dean met Castiel in the fields as had become their ritual. Castiel was already out there lying in the grass, with his face turned to the warm morning sun. He looked so peaceful lying there with a slight smile on his lips. There were years of worry lines missing from his face in that moment, and Dean felt like he was catching a glimpse of something special.

“Did you sleep well?” Dean asked softly, kneeling beside Cas and turning his own face to the sun.

“I dreamed,” Castiel replied, sounding very pleased.

“Congratulations,” Dean couldn't help himself from saying. Castiel smiled wider at his comment though.

“I haven't remembered a dream in years. Sleep seems almost like a void, empty space between hours of work,” he explained, eyes remaining closed and voice tranquil.

“What did you dream about?”

“That I was forgiven,” Castiel said, opening his eyes to look up at Dean. Dean managed a smiled, but Castiel's smiles where disarming. “We have work to do,” Cas remarked, sitting up before Dean could ask for what.

Dean stretched himself as Castiel told him what they would be doing for the day. However, Castiel seemed a thousand miles away as he spoke, that small smile never leaving his lips.

“If we want to have a program soon, we need to get down to business. You need to get your splits, and we need to start blocking out a routine on the silks. You showed great talent last night. I think you're ready,” Castiel told him, standing behind Dean and pressing his chest closer to the ground as he stretched forward. Dean grunted at the strain, but he didn't complain.

Castiel's hands lingered as he let Dean ease back up, gently massaging Dean's shoulders before guiding him onto his back to stretch his hamstrings. Cas straddled Dean's right leg, lifting the left to his shoulder.

“We will need costumes,” Cas said, beginning to massage Dean's thigh instead of stretching his leg up yet.

Dean sighed at how wonderful Cas' fingers felt on him. “I'm not wearing that skimpy little number you wore last night,” Dean said, but Cas worked his fingers deeper into the tissue and Dean's protest was cut off by a long groan.

Finally, Cas pushed Dean's leg up toward his chest, using his own weight to push it further. Dean was surprised by how easily he stretched this morning, usually everything was a fight before noon. Dean went a little cross-eyed as Castiel practically laid right on top of him.

“Your flexibility has definitely improved,” he said, just inches above Dean's face. “Perhaps a little incentive could get you the rest of the way.”

“What are you suggesting?” Dean asked, but Cas was quick to show him, dipping down that last inch and kissing Dean ever so gently before pulling back out of reach.

“That's it?” Dean asked, trying to chase Cas' lips, but his leg and Cas' weight pinned him down.

Castiel grinned down at him, “The incentive is getting the real kiss when you succeed,” he teased. Dean groaned again, trying to relax his body to get his leg to stretch just a hair further. Castiel let him try for a minute before easing his leg back down and doing the same with the right leg. “Maybe you will succeed this time,” Cas said, and Dean knew it was a challenge.

Dean tried to relax and just let Cas do all the work, stretching his leg as far as it could go. Still, he didn't quite make it to Dean's chest.

“Maybe we should change positions, and I'll kiss you if you succeed,” Dean suggested.

Castiel scoffed, moving his hips slightly to get better leverage. Dean grit his teeth together as their groins pressed. This was torture not incentive—Dean was hard by the time Cas helped him sit up to practice arabesques.

Lifting his legs and arms into position, Dean concentrated on his technique, but that went out the window when Castiel gripped him around the thigh and waist, pressing his body to Dean's and stretching Dean's leg higher. “You stretched so well last night in the silks,” Cas said against Dean's ear. Cas brought Dean's leg higher, while holding his torso steady in the proper position. All the while, his erection brushed against Dean's hip.

By the time Dean was fully stretched, he thought he might go mad from how aroused he was. He just sat there, looking up at Cas who was once again enjoying the morning sun.

“Again,” Cas said, and Dean frowned.

“What is happening again?”

“Stretching. Now that you are stretched, you should be able to go further.

“Cas, I don't know about you, but I'm about as hard as a rock, and if I have to go through that all over again with you rubbing up against me, I will lose it,” Dean told him, crossing his arms as he sat there.

“The only way to get better is to endure, now lie down again,” Cas said, turning back to him, looking determined.

“Is that a military philosophy because I'm not at war. I just want—”

Castiel cut Dean off by pushing him down onto the grass and lying over his body. He pressed their bodies together and rocked his hips. Dean tried to wrap his arms around Cas' waist, but Cas pinned his wrists to the soft ground. “We will do it again, and if you show improvement, perhaps I will relieve your ‘madness’,” he told Dean, pushing back and leaving Dean panting with need.

“This is torture,” Dean groused, but he knew he was being childish.

“Success is often painful, Dean. I promise that it will be worth it in the end,” Cas told him, lifting Dean's leg and stretching it up once again.

By the time they made it into the tent, Dean was walking like a cowboy from how many times they'd gone through the stretching routine. Castiel glided, light and limber to the silks. Dean drank enough water to drown a horse and tried to adjust himself so that his constant erection wasn't obnoxiously visible. It was a losing battle.

Castiel made sure the silks were ready and stood there waiting patiently while Dean prepared himself for at least another hour of denial. At least, he thought Cas was waiting patiently. He could have been lost in thought again.

“I want you to do what you did last night,” Castiel told him, looking up at the apparatus.

“I don't remember what I did last night, Cas,” Dean said, coming to stand at Castiel's side.

“Not exactly. I want you to move as you feel. No program to follow,” Cas said, holding the silks taut for Dean.

“I can't do that with people everywhere,” Dean said, stepping close so only Cas could hear him.

“There's no one but us when we do this, Dean. The world doesn't exist beyond us and the silks,” Cas reminded him, pressing the silks into his hands.

“Those are nice words, Cas, but I can feel nearly a dozen pairs of eyes on me right now,” Dean retorted.

“But I'm the only one that matters,” Cas said, motioning for Dean to climb.

Dean did as Cas instructed, focusing just one his movements and Castiel's steady gaze. He wanted to impress Cas just as Cas had tried to impress him the night before. He started by securing his knee in the silks and hanging down with his knee bent and his other leg pointed, back arched. It was a pose Castiel had done infrequently in his routines, but Dean had liked it and tried to learn it on his own.

He wasn't surprised when Castiel began to rock the silks as Dean hung there, arms waving gracefully with the movement. Dean held his breath and arching further down, before bringing his straight leg forward to his chest.

Completely focused, Dean moved through position after position, not even stopping as Castiel climbed up to join him. They worked around each other, taking their cues from the other and moving to support their lead.

It was only them, bodies often pressed together as they transitioned from move to move. And when Dean's body was exhausted, Castiel led him down the silks to solid ground.

Dean was shocked by the applause they received as they came back down—it seemed as though the entire tent had stopped what they were doing to watch. Even Meg stood clapping appreciatively, her massive boa constrictor draped over her shoulders placidly.

Dean felt himself blush under their enthusiastic cheers. “Cut it out and get back to work,” he called, but they ignored him, as they tended to.

“You deserve those,” Cas whispered in his ear, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel.

Dean gave him a gentle shove. “You were up there too. That's what they're cheering for,” he said, pulling on his pants to go back to his trailer while Sam and Charlie were still working. He was too wound up, and he needed release if he was going to get anything else done today.

“I wish you could see yourself through the eyes of your friends. You would not be able to deny yourself then,” Cas said, chalking his hands again and preparing to climb back up. “Come to my trailer before the show tonight. We need to size you for costumes,” Castiel told him.

“Yeah, yeah. You just want to see me in tiny shorts,” Dean said, picking up his things to go.

“I can't deny the thought of it excites me,” Castiel whispered in his ear before he could escape.

“Dammit Cas,” Dean groaned, holding his own towel in front of his renewed erection. He walked out of the tent still sore from their practice, but with a purpose.

He filled a bucket with water as he headed back to the trailer, placing it beside his bed before he went and bolted the door shut. Dean had installed the deadbolt when Sam was still a teenager, and Dean couldn't take walking in on him even one more time. It had come in handy for both of them over the years—if the door was bolted shut, then they usually found elsewhere to hang out until they saw the other wandering around again.

Dean went to his chest of belongings and rooted around for the fine soaps he'd collected over the years. He'd done his share of petty crime to get them enough to eat before they'd joined the troupe. If he happened to steal a few things for his pleasure when they caught his eye, well, Dean wasn't the one calling himself a good man.

He picked his favorite soap and brought it over to his bed. He removed his tights and made sure that the meager window was obscured by the curtains.

He thought of how Cas had smelled the night before as he unwrapped the bar of perfumed soap, dipping it into the bucket and bringing it up to cleanse the sweat and dirty from his body. He imagined Cas holding the bar steady as he trailed it over his arms and chest, lower over his stomach, and lower still.

Dean built a lather in his palm then wrapped it around himself, cleaning himself thoroughly. Sighing at how nice it felt to clean away days of grime, Dean brought the bar lower to wash his legs, then back up sliding the back between his cheeks and gasping as it brushed against his hole.

Dean took his time cleaning his whole body until there wasn't a patch of dirt left on him. Then he carefully washed away the fragrant soap with a wet cloth. He made sure he’d gotten it all off before wrapping a towel around his hips and walking over to the gramophone Sam had in his own chest of belongings. Dean cranked it and placed one of his jazz records on the turntable.

Smooth music played as Dean returned to his chest, storing away the bar of soap and rummaging further. He removed the small jar of petroleum jelly from the chest and brought it to the bed.

He laid out on his covers, unwrapping the towel from his waist and spreading his legs. He thought about their lengthy practice that day and how his body had pressed to Cas'. Slowly he reached down, stroking himself with one hand while he brought the jar to rest on his abdomen. It was cold against his warm skin, and it made the muscles in his belly flutter.

He thought about Cas' cool fingers caressing his skin, and he let his eyes fall shut, letting his hands work. The music played softly, canceling out his soft sighs and groans.

Dean jogged over to Cas' trailer later in the afternoon—he'd fallen asleep still covered in his own come after wringing three orgasms out of himself, all to thoughts of Castiel. It was maddening.

He knocked on Cas' door, waiting impatiently for Cas to answer.

“Looking for Cassy?” Gabriel asked.

Dean turned around to find Gabe watching him with an amused smile. “You know where he is?” Dean asked sharply.

“He must be around here somewhere. I know he wouldn't want to miss your little meeting in his trailer,” Gabe said, pulling a piece of candy out of his pocket and popping it into his mouth.

“You implyin' something, Gabe?”

“Me? Never. He's round Meg's trailer, no doubt, enjoying her hospitality,” Gabe said, walking away with a spring in his step.

Dean growled as he headed off in the direction of Meg's trailer. He hated going near her residence—it was packed with venomous and vicious animals. Meg had a tolerance to so many venoms at this point, that Dean was pretty sure she was part snake. Probably a pit viper, but that was just Dean's take on it.

Dean didn't even have to knock on Meg's door; Cas was sitting on the steps with her, drinking some sort of tea. Her three massive dogs were laid out on the grass around them as they laughed. However, when Dean got too close, the dogs were up and growling at him.

Meg smiled at him, but her smiles always reminded him of a shark. “Can I do something for you, Dean?” she asked. “I hope you don't mind that I invited your Castiel over for a chat. He's such delightful company.”

“Not at all, Meg,” Dean grit out. He didn't know why he didn't particularly like her, but she'd always rubbed him the wrong way. Cas didn't seem to have any of those reservations. He was smiling at her as he sipped his drink.

“Miss Masters was just telling me about her first act. She's been sawed in half over six hundred and twenty times, Dean. Is that not impressive?” Cas asked him.

“It's that she's put herself back together that many times that worries me,” Dean said, stepping back as one of her dogs circled him.

“So clever, Dean. Don't take too long with your little costume party. I've invited Castiel for dinner, and I don't tolerate lateness,” Meg said, taking Cas' mug and her own back into her trailer. “Heel,” she snapped as she came back out, and all three dogs sat at attention. “Thank you for the distraction, Castiel,” she said, waving to him as he got to his feet to follow Dean.

“Why were you over there?” Dean asked as they walked.

“Miss Masters is my friend,” Cas said, shrugging.

“You don't find her unsettling?” Dean asked. Dean hadn’t realized that Cas had made other friends. He always seemed so apart from the others.

“Not at all. Meg is a brilliant performer. She is world renowned for her acts. She's gruff, but it is not easy to run her own career in a world run by men who would sooner use her and pass her on. She takes care of over twenty animals, and she sees to their safety and health wherever she goes. I fine her fascinating,” Cas said, sounding quite fond.

Dean was surprised to find he wasn't jealous. Cas seemed so in awe of Meg's dedication to her animals and her act, but Dean understood that. Cas was just as dedicated to his own act, and he could probably relate to her more than he could most of the others.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said, following Cas into his trailer. However, Dean stopped short when he saw the thing was filled with all sorts of costumes—Cas had clearly taken each out of hiding and hung it out for him. “That’s a lot of costumes, and not all that much material,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean. “Material gets in the way,” he said, walking over to his bed and lifting the first of many costumes into the air.

“No. Absolutely not,” Dean said, looking at the pale blue briefs. They were scandalously small. They were not appropriate for anyone to wear.

Cas sighed. “It's not the costume itself. It will keep you in the costume,” Cas told him, holding the skimpy bottoms out. “You are always concerned with your size.”

“This will keep me in my costume?” he asked, taking the powder blue material in his hands and looked it over. They were smaller than girl's panties. He didn't know how he was supposed to put them on.

“Just take off your clothes, Dean. I will help you into them,” Cas said, crossing his arms.

Dean felt himself flush at Cas' command, before he slowly removed his shirt and pants, tugging off his boots as well. When he stood in front of Cas in boxers and socks, he held his hand out for the briefs again. Cas sighed, placing them in Dean's hand. Dean turned, dropping his pants.

Pulling the briefs up wasn't all that easy. Stretching them over his ass and package was downright hell. “How is my cock supposed to fit in here?” Dean asked, trying to arrange his nuts to fit the rest of him.

“May I?” Cas asked him.

“Sure, whatever,” Dean said, stopping his attempts as Cas reached around his body, using one hand to spread Dean's legs then hold the briefs away from his body. He used his other hand to cup Dean's penis and tuck it into the briefs with his testicles. Castiel moved them around slightly before removing his hand then gently placing the briefs against Dean's waist again. “Does that feel secure?”

Dean was shocked that Cas got him into this contraption, and that it was not nearly as uncomfortable as he was expecting. “It does.”

“Good. Now, the first costume,” Cas said, stepping back and going over to his bed again.

Dean turned to find Cas holding a pair of gray tights and a brocade vest of silver and black. Dean actually liked the costume; it was simple and neat.

Cas shook his head, frowning at Dean once the ensemble was on. “What?” Dean asked, looking at himself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if he could wear something like this.

“It is not good enough. You are strong, sensual, powerful. This costume is boring,” Cas told him, motioning for Dean to take it off. “It will dull you.”

“Haven't you worn all of these?” Dean asked as he carefully removed the tight outfit.

“Of course, but what works for a specific performance does not work for all performances,” Cas told him. “It is like your science fiction books. _Player Piano_ and other stories have automatons, yes? However, those automatons are not the same. They fit the story they are in, correct?” Cas asked.

“I guess so,” Dean agreed, taking the next costume Cas held up. This one hurt to look at. It was orange. Dean cringed as he pulled on the leotard and matching shorts. “Who hated you to make you wear this?” he asked, and that earned him a soft laugh from Cas.

“The costume was supposed to be blue, but someone stole the note to the seamstress and changed the color. I only performed in it twice while she sewed the real costume,” Cas explained.

“They really didn't like you,” Dean said, wincing at his own reflection. It was a shame that such a vibrant and expensive looking fabric created the ugliest costume Dean had ever seen.

“Some did not, but you cannot please everyone,” Castiel said, shrugging and motioning for Dean to remove the costume. Dean was grateful that Cas didn’t somehow find this brilliant.

“I'm glad you're here, Cas. You fit with us,” Dean said, trying to find the words that Cas would understand.

“Thank you, Dean. My time here has been pleasant,” Cas assured him, holding up a shining leotard. Dean bit his lip as he looked at the shimmery material.

Cas helped him into it, making sure that it covered the blue briefs. It looked like a girl's costume, and Dean had a flashback to his night with Miss Hurley.

Cas put his hands on Dean's hips as he looked at himself in the mirror. “This material looks good on you. It suits you,” Cas told him, pressing a kiss to Dean's bare shoulder.

“How so?” Dean asked, beginning to take it off as Cas stepped back.

“It changes color from different angles or in the light. It compliments how complex you are,” Cas said, taking the costume from him.

Dean didn't feel particularly complex as he stood there in just the briefs, looking at Castiel. “You think I'm complex?”

“You are selfless, but I have never met a man so passionate about the things he calls his own. Everything about you is complex, Dean. I feel that I could know you for a hundred years, and still I would be surprised by you every day,” Cas told him, standing in Dean's space and resting his hands on Dean's sides.

“I don't know,” Dean told him, always unsure of himself even if he hid it well.

Cas smiled. “A few more,” he said. Dean allowed himself to be dressed in all sorts of costumes. Some he found he enjoyed better than others. Some he felt embarrassed to wear, but he enjoyed the way Cas looked at him as he stretched in them.

By the time Cas had settled on a pair of shorts with suspenders and matching striped tights, the only thing holding Dean in from being embarrassingly hard yet again were the tight briefs that Cas had squeezed him into.

“I think crimson will look good with your complexion,” Cas said, holding up a pair of deep red tights across Dean's belly. “How do these feel?” Cas asked, body pressed to Dean's back to see him in the mirror.

“These feel fine,” Dean said, knowing what was coming next.

“Stretch for me. Arabesque and a split. Touch your toes,” Cas said.

First, Dean reached down and touched his toes. He could feel Cas' eyes on him like those of a hawk. As he straightened up, he lifted his leg into an arabesque. Castiel stepped forward, stretching his leg up.

“How does that feel. You can move easily?” he asked, lips brushing Dean's ear.

“Yes,” Dean replied, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to shake off what Cas' proximity was doing to him. It wasn't like he hadn't come three times that afternoon. The fact that his cock even had interest in getting up again spoke volumes about Castiel's appeal.

“Excellent. I will buy the materials as soon as I get a chance to head into town,” Cas told him, lowering Dean's leg to the floor. “Take everything off and let me get your measurements,” Cas told him, turning and collecting a tape measure.

Dean removed the costume and stood in front of Cas in only the blue briefs. Cas quickly brought the tape up to measure Dean's waist, his torso, hips. Dean felt the briefs become tighter as Cas knelt in front of him, pressing the tape measure up into his balls and down to his ankle. He took a steadying breath as Cas measured his thighs.

Dean actually jumped when he felt warm breath against his cock through the briefs. He looked down at Cas who was grinning up at him. “Lookin' to take a few more measurements, Cas?” Dean asked cheekily.

Cas' grin grew predatory as he guided Dean back onto his bed, which was still covered in costumes. They paid no attention to those as Cas tugged down the tight bottoms, freeing Dean from their confines.

Dean groaned as Cas looked at him hungrily. He leaned down to capture Dean's lips in a soft kiss, nuzzling Dean's cheek as he pulled back. “You're beautiful, Dean,” he said, running his fingers over Dean's bare hip.

Dean bit his lip at Cas' words. He wasn't used to being called beautiful, at least not in a good way. People had always called him pretty. His own father had once or twice, but pretty was never a compliment. Castiel clearly saw this as a compliment.

“You always get uncomfortable when I appreciate you,” Cas said, bringing his hand up to cup Dean's jaw instead of his hip.

“Just not used to that sort of thing,” Dean admitted, feeling naked beyond just what was physically on display.

“You deserve to be appreciated, Dean. You deserve to be adored and cherished,” Cas told him. “You work so hard, and you should be recognized for it.”

“It really isn't all that—”

“Never talk yourself down in front of me, Dean. I won't be fooled into believing you are anything less than you are,” Cas told him, leaning down and kissing him again.

Dean pressed against Cas' body with his own, seeking him out. Cas didn't disappoint, opening his pants and pulling his cock from the confines. They moved against each other, creating a delicious friction that had them both groaning into each other's mouths.

“You can't distract me with your body, Dean. I see through your bluffs,” Cas told him. Dean cursed himself for teaching Cas what bluffing was in poker—the man was too sharp to let anything go. All knowledge was tactical when Cas got a hold of it.

“I'm not bluffing,” Dean said.

“Fine, you're hiding,” Cas said bluntly.

Dean pressed up against Cas, rolling his hips and gasping at how good it felt. “I've never done this with another man before,” Dean admitted. “I've kissed a few. I've used my hand before. Almost used my mouth, but not this,” Dean said, looking away from Cas.

“That wasn't what I meant, but thank you,” Cas said, slowing his hips' movements.

“You're stopping? I swear, I'm not a virgin or anything...”

“I'm not stopping, Dean,” Cas said quietly, leaning back to remove his own clothing. Dean watched him slowly pull away his shirt and pants, having no compunctions about being laid bare in front of Dean. Then he laid over Dean again, kissing him and holding him securely.

“Me having never done this warrants complete nudity?” Dean asked, enjoying the feel of Cas' skin beneath his fingertips.

“It warrants being able to enjoy all of this. The touch of skin on skin is quite important,” Cas told him, guiding Dean's legs to wrap around his waist.

It felt more intimate this way, even if they were rolling around on a pile of colorful fabrics, ruffles, and sequins. Dean could feel all of Cas against him, and he held him close, kissing him wantonly. There was no need for finesse right now.

Cas used his legs for leverage and rocked against Dean. Dean sighed, completely aware of Castiel's length pressing against his own.

Dean squeezed his legs to bring them more firmly together, and Cas gasped against his ear. He'd never heard anything more arousing than it, and he felt his body on the brink.

“Not gonna last, Cas,” Dean whispered, gripping Cas' shoulders tightly.

“Don't hold back,” Cas begged him. Dean scored his nails down Cas back as Cas reached between them to wrap his long fingers around both their cocks. It only took a few strokes for Dean to spill over, coming with a long groan. Cas shook above him, coming almost at the same time.

As they slowed, Dean looked at the mess between them then up at Cas' hooded eyes. “How attached to these costumes are you?” Dean asked him, and Castiel answered by grabbing the hideous orange number and wiping them up with it.

Dean laid back as Castiel got up to pull on some pants. He tugged on briefs, but left it at that before coming back and lying over Dean again. He kissed Dean's cheek before resting his head on Dean's chest. Dean paused, not entirely sure what to do. He wanted to hold Cas. He wanted to run his fingers through Cas' perpetually messy hair.

Dean wanted so much, but he'd always believed that men didn't cuddle unless forced to. He'd always believed that sex was sex and when it was over, men got up and went back to their own business. Dean loved to hold his lovers, but he never imagined Cas would go for such a thing.

“Your heart is still racing,” Cas said softly, lips brushing Dean's chest as he spoke. Instead of waiting for an answer, Castiel took Dean's hand and brought it to his own chest. The pace was much slower than what Dean felt going on in his own body. Cas brought Dean's hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles, before twining their fingers together and resting their hands on Dean's own chest. “Now is a time for relaxation,” Cas said, squeezing Dean's fingers.

“Easier said, Cas,” Dean told him, but Castiel chuckled softly.

“Do I frighten you, Dean?”

“No,” Dean was quick to reply.

“Then why does your heart still race?”

“I don't know.”

“I wouldn't be here if I didn't want you, all of you,” Cas told him, kissing Dean's chest above his heart.

“I don't think anyone wants all of me, Cas,” Dean said. It just slipped out. He never would have admitted such a thing if he wasn't feeling so comfortable with Cas wrapped in his arms.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you,” Castiel said, not pushing Dean, but eventually Dean let himself run his fingers through Cas' hair. He continued to do so because the contented sigh Cas produced was more than worth it.

They laid there the entire afternoon and into the evening, talking intermittently about their act, the circus, and their history. Dean couldn't deny that every time he learned something new about Castiel, he wanted to know even more. Perhaps that was what Castiel felt for him, but Dean didn't find himself very interesting at all.

They finally pulled apart when Meg banged on the door. “Hurry it up, or your meal goes to the pack,” she called through the door. “Tell Winchester there's enough for him if he's built up an appetite.”

Dean blushed. Surely, she didn't suspect what they had done? He hoped she was just being her crass self. Castiel stopped him as he was getting dressed in a hurry, placing his hand on Dean's arm and a kiss to his shoulder. Dean slowed, and took a breath. When he left the trailer, he begged off dinner because he needed to find his brother. Meg didn't seem entirely disappointed.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean was sitting on a low hanging branch reading the afternoon away. Everyone was getting ready for the show tonight, and for once Dean didn’t have any chores to do. Bobby’s truck was running fine, the rigging was checked, the animals were fed and bathed, and Dean was free to enjoy himself.

It was a rarity, and Dean had chosen to wander out into the woodlands not far from the camp and find a quiet place to read. If people knew he had nothing to do, they would come up with things they didn’t want to do. There was actually a limit to what Dean was willing to do for others, especially when his meager leisure time was at stake.

Dean turned the page in _Player Piano_. He was getting close to the end, and he was hoping to finish it before he had to get back to watch Sam and Cas perform tonight. His leg was swinging beneath the branch, and he was completely relaxed.

So, when something grabbed his ankle, Dean nearly tossed the book and fell out of the tree. He was caught by Cas who was smirking as he helped Dean stand.

“Christ Cas, wear a bell or something,” Dean said, heart racing as he brushed himself off and made sure that he still had his finger in the page of his book.

Cas didn’t step back, instead glancing over Dean’s shoulder as he stood up straight again. “I went into town today to pick up material for your costume,” Castiel said, lips brushing Dean’s ear as he spoke.

“You came all the way out here to tell me that?” Dean asked, annoyed that he was disturbed at the very end of his story.

“I came to bring you this,” Cas said, reaching around Dean’s body to hold a brown paper wrapped parcel. Dean looked at it for a moment before taking it gently from Cas’ hands, trading off his book.

“I hope this isn’t my costume because if it fits in here, we’re going to have a problem with public decency,” Dean said, turning the parcel over and looking at the wrapping. Dean didn’t have to turn around to know that Castiel was rolling his eyes at Dean’s stupid sense of humor.

“I can take it back,” Cas said, and Dean turned to face him.

“No. It’s just strange getting a gift. I should be giving you something too…”

“Dean, you do not need to get me anything. I just happened to think you may enjoy this, so I bought it. It is nothing I couldn’t afford to give you,” Castiel told him.

“But you’re paying for the costume already…”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean didn’t argue further; it would make him seem ungrateful. So, he tore open the paper, dropping it to the ground as a book was revealed beneath it. “ _Foundation_ by Isaac Asimov,” Dean read the cover, turning to Cas and holding the book tightly. “You really didn’t have to get me this,” he said, feeling awkward for accepting such a beautiful gift. It was brand new, not even second hand like the ones he usually splurged on.

“I thought you would like it if you enjoyed science fiction,” Cas said, sounding like he didn’t think it was a big deal at all.

Considering Dean didn’t get gifts unless it was his birthday, it was a big deal to him. “I need to give you some—”

“No, Dean. You don’t owe me. I thought you might enjoy it, and I genuinely hope that you do. Asimov is a wonderful writer,” Castiel said, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist.

Dean frowned, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the description. He’d heard of _Foundation_ , but he’d never read it, and as he read the back of the book’s cover, he knew he would enjoy it. “Have you read it?” Dean asked, leaning into Cas as Cas reeled him in just a little.

“I have. It was one of the first books I read in English,” Castiel said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck while he was distracted. Dean tilted his head to allow Cas easier access, but he continued to read the information on the book.

“You paid twenty-five cents for this, Cas? I got to—”

“Dean, your enjoyment will be payment enough. You do not get much time to yourself, and you should be able to enjoy it when you do,” Cas said, pressing another kiss to Dean’s temple.

Dean turned, catching Cas’ lips and kissing him hard, lips a demanding pressure and tongue pushing forward, begging entrance. Cas opened his mouth, welcoming Dean in with a soft sigh. Their tongues pressed together, retreating for the barest hint of a second and meeting again. Dean pulled back to nip lightly at Cas’ bottom lip, and Cas retaliated by titling his head down to nip at Dean’s scruffy jaw.

“Can I offer you a different sort of payment for the book?” Dean asked, pressing his body firmly against Cas’.

“Dean…”

“I don’t feel obligated, Cas. Been thinking about you for weeks,” Dean said, sinking to his knees and mouthing at the bulge in Cas’ trousers. Cas looked down at him with wide eyes, and Dean smiled mischievously, brushing his teeth over the bulge gently.

Dean wasted no time unbuttoning Cas’ pants, and Castiel quickly got with the program, pushing Dean’s mouth back for a moment so he could get his cock out. It was bigger than the even the tights showed it to be, uncut and thick in front of Dean’s face.

Dean just looked at him for a long moment, and Cas didn’t push him to take it. Instead he cupped Dean’s jaw, soothing his thumb over the stubble there.

“I’ve thought about you too, Dean. Those gorgeous lips on me,” Cas said, and Dean looked up into his stormy eyes. They said so much without Cas ever having to open his mouth; there was desire there, a deep want begging Dean to take him in his mouth, but there was also caring. Dean wasn’t used to the level of tenderness Cas’ eyes held for him, and it made him want this even more. Dean had had plenty of lovers, but he’d rarely had the luxury of caring deeper than just reaching completion.

Bringing his hand up to grip Cas’ hip and hold him steady, Dean leaned in again and pressed his lips to the soft flesh of Cas’ cock. He mouthed at it softly, pressing wet kisses along it until he reached the head.

Dean blushed slightly as he looked back up at Cas. Castiel seemed to understand his hesitation though, and he held his shaft rolling back the foreskin gently and holding the head to Dean’s lips. Dean opened his mouth and allowed Cas to press his cock inside.

The taste was undeniable and sharp, but Dean suckled at it using his tongue to tease Castiel. He was rewarded by Castiel’s groan of pleasure as he wrapped his hand around the back of Dean’s head and urged him to take more.

Thoughts of his prior fantasies gripped Dean’s mind as he took Cas further down, lips stretching around the thickness. Dean’s eyes watered as he tried to take Cas all the way, but Cas didn’t let him.

“Don’t hurt yourself. This feels incredible,” Cas told him, stroking Dean’s cheek and smiling at him. “You look so good like this,” he said, and Dean’s eyes fluttered shut.

He bobbed his head, taking Cas as far as he could each time. Cas gasped as Dean enthusiastically worked his cock. Dean pressed his hand through the opening of Cas’ pants, searching for his testicles, but Cas pushed his fingers away.

“I’m close, Dean,” Cas told him, reaching to cup his head again, pulling him further onto his cock. “Harder,” he commanded, and Dean pressed his palm to his own erection as he sucked Cas harder.

He felt Cas’ cock twitch and a tangy liquid poured into his mouth as Castiel came. He used Dean’s shoulder to keep himself steady as he orgasmed, and Dean watched in awe that he had done that to Cas.

When Cas was composed again, he pulled his slowly softening cock from between Dean’s aching mouth and tucked it back inside his trousers. He knelt down in front of Dean, their knees brushing as they faced each other. Cas reached forward to place his hand over Dean’s, and Dean gasped at how sensitive his cock was under the added pressure.

“What can I do for you, Dean?” Cas asked, looking into Dean’s eyes. Dean felt like the center of the universe in that moment—he knew he could ask for anything, and Cas would try to give it to him. He was tempted to ask Cas to fuck him, but this wasn’t the time or the place for that.

“A handjob is fine,” Dean said, unbuttoning his own slacks.

Cas looked at him with those intense eyes for a long second before pushing Dean down onto his back. He tugged Dean’s pants and boxers down his legs to reveal his straining cock, and he wasted no time in taking Dean deep into his mouth. His eyes stayed on Dean the entire time, challenging him to deny that this was what he really wanted.

Pulling off for a moment to tease the head of Dean’s cock, he said, “I know when you’re denying yourself, Dean. Not with me.” He took Dean deep again, reaching between Dean’s legs and brushing his hole with his knuckles. He smiled around Dean’s length as Dean arched up off the ground with a whimpering cry. Castiel’s hand and mouth felt too good.

Dean didn’t last long, coming with a shout as he spilled into Cas’ mouth. Cas pulled off and stroked him through the aftershocks, milking every last drop out of him with a sedate smile.

“You’re beautiful when you are in ecstasy,” Castiel said, pulling Dean’s pants back up and setting him to rights again.

Dean just laid there panting. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. Cas had taken control, and it was better than any fantasy. He could only imagine what the rest would be like.

“You need to prepare for tonight,” Dean said, allowing Cas to help him sit up again. He picked up his books, and he was alarmed to see his brand new book had a smudge of dirt on it.

“Don’t worry. Just think of us when you see it,” Cas said, stopping Dean’s thumb from frantically trying to rub it away. Dean placed the book in his lap and pulled Cas in for a lingering kiss. He could taste his own come on Cas’ tongue, and he didn’t doubt Cas could taste the same on his.

“You’ll be late,” Dean told him as Cas pulled him down again to lie against Cas’ chest.

“I perform last. They will be fine without me for a little longer. I have more important things to do,” Cas said, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean kissed him again, never having felt this spoiled by a lover before. Dean was a cuddler by nature, and Cas holding him close now was like a drug.

“How did you find me out here,” Dean asked him, earning another one of Castiel’s beautiful grins.

“I have my sources,” Cas told him, brushing their noses together.

“Gabriel,” Dean groaned. Of course, Gabriel would keep tabs on his whereabouts. He felt anxiety creep up his spine at the thought of Gabriel watching them now, of Gabriel having seen what they’d done.

“Not Gabriel,” Castiel assured him.

“Then who?” Dean couldn’t deny his curiosity. He didn’t appreciate Cas’ eye roll, but he didn’t push again for answers.

“Jo said you liked to wander in the woods to find a place to read,” Cas said, helping Dean to his feet. The sun was getting low, and the show would be starting soon. “May I escort you back to your trailer?” Castiel asked, offering his arm to Dean.

Dean punched him in the shoulder. “I ain’t your dame,” he said, but he ended up wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulder instead, holding Cas close to his side.

Three days later they were in another small city, but they had the rare luxury of a night without a performance. They’d arrived the night before, and they’d spent the morning erecting the tent. So, now they had time on their hands to do with as they pleased.

Dean was walking back from a long practice where Castiel had put him through his paces. Castiel hanging behind to watch Meg practice. He’d been getting closer to her lately, and Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but Meg seemed to put up with Cas’ oddities in a way she never put up with anyone else.

“Dean, I need to ask you something very important,” Charlie said, jogging up to him.

Dean stopped, turning to allow her to catch up. “What do you need?” Dean asked.

Charlie fell into step and gave him a bright grin. “As you know, we have the evening to ourselves,” she started, and Dean suspected that he wasn’t going to like where this was going.

“Yes, I’m aware,” he said, watching her out of the corner of his eye as they approached his trailer.

“Well, you see, I was thinking…”

“That’s a dangerous thing when it comes to you.”

“It’s nothing awful, Dean, I promise. It’s just... I’ve never been able to take Jo out on a real honest to goodness date. You boys get to go out dancing and meeting women, but me and her, well, it wouldn’t look right, you know?” she said, giving him the big doe eyes for good measure.

“What’s this got to do with me, Charlie? If you need me to lie to Ellen ‘bout where you’re takin’ Jo, I’m not doin’ it. Ellen will cut my balls off with Jo’s knives and feed ‘em to Meg’s snakes,” Dean said, opening his trailer and holding the door for Charlie to enter. She slipped inside, looking around like there could be spies everywhere. Dean understood her paranoia.

“Look Dean, we know about you and Castiel,” she said once the door was closed. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, looking completely determined.

“You know what?” Dean asked, feeling sweat break on the back of his neck.

Charlie rolled her eyes at him. “We know you to are a couple, or well something. The way you look at each other, the way you touch each other, you’re definitely _something_ ,” Charlie told him. “I’m not blind, Dean. I can see what’s right in front of me, and you and Cas are more than just performance partners. The man bought you science fiction. It’s clearly love.”

“What does any of this have to do with you taking Jo out on an 'honest to goodness' date on our night off?” Dean asked, not knowing what to say to deny her allegations and instead going with deflection.

“I know what you’re doing, Dean. Anyway, I want to take Jo out tonight, but I can’t just take her out dancing and to the cinema…”

“Why not? No one would think anything of it,” Dean said.

“Because I don’t want men asking to dance with my gal, Dean,” Charlie snapped at him. Dean could understand that—a couple of beautiful girls like them out for the night, and they’d be hounded for a dance by every available man in the joint.

“So, how does this involve me?” he asked, already having an inkling.

“I need you and Cas to take us on a double date,” Charlie told him, sounding very pleased with herself. “I’d ordinarily ask you and Sam, but if we’re on a date, you should be too. It’s only fair.”

“You want me and Cas to take you two out dancing,” Dean repeated slowly. “You want to pose as two couples, so you can take Jo on a ‘real’ date.”

“Exactly! It’s genius, I know. So, I’ll need you to tell Cas to be ready by seven o’clock. I have the restaurant we’ll be eating at and the cinema we’ll go to before dancing.”

“Whoa, Charlie. I didn’t say yes. There’s nothing betwee—”

“Don’t you dare deny it, Dean. This is me you’re talkin’ to. I’m not makin’ any judgments. I just want you two to be happy, and if that’s together then that’s the way it is,” she said, punching Dean lightly in the arm.

Dean just stood there looking at her for a moment like maybe Sam had dropped her on her head during practice, but she just continued to smile at him. “I'll have to talk to Cas. We're supposed to work tonight,” Dean said at last because there really was no use arguing with her. The girls deserved a night out anyway, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go out with Cas.

“I talked to him already. He seemed like the easier target, but he said I'd have to ask you,” Charlie said, grinning. “This is going to be wonderful,” she said excitedly, hugging him tightly. Dean hugged her back with equal enthusiasm, because she was one of his best friends and he couldn't leave her hanging.

She'd played him, and he couldn't even be mad at her. She probably learned it from Sam, because Sam had learned a long time ago how to get Dean to agree to things he wanted.

“Don't get too excited,” Dean told her.

“Are you kidding? This is going to be the best night of my life,” she insisted, squeezing him extra hard before releasing him. “I have to go tell Jo!”

Dean shook his head as she ran out of his trailer like a woman on a mission. He went to sit on his cot, but as he sat down, he noticed Castiel standing in the doorway. “You tricked me,” Dean said.

“She begged me not to say anything until she'd buttered you up,” Castiel replied, standing just inside the trailer.

“I hope you know what we're getting ourselves into, Cas. Those girls are trouble. Last time Jo went out dancing, she pulled a knife on a man that got fresh with her. Threatened to cut his balls off right there on the dance floor,” Dean said, leaning back and spreading his legs.

Cas' eyes when right to his crotch, still covered in only Dean's tights. “I look forward to a little excitement,” Cas said, but Dean knew he was only partially talking about the date.

“Oh they'll give you plenty of that. By the time we get back tonight, I bet you'll have had your fill of excitement,” Dean told him.

“I doubt that will be the case, Dean, but if you care to make a wager...”

“You want to make a bet?” Dean asked, shocked by Cas' cheek.

“You seem to think I can't handle Joanna and Charlie. I take offense to that assumption. I have faced down German tanks, Dean,” Cas said, walking toward him slowly.

“Fine, what do you want to wager?” Dean asked.

“I think the winner should choose their prize,” Cas said, leaning over him. Dean could still smell the sweat and chalk on him from their long practice.

“You're just as crazy as Charlie. Fine, it's a bet,” Dean agreed, though he wasn't even sure what he was agreeing to at this point. Cas was just very hard to say no to.

“I will see you this evening, Dean,” Cas whispered, a hair's breadth away from Dean's lips before pulling away. Dean wanted to kiss the smirk he was wearing off his face, but he let Cas step back. Neither of them would be ready if he pulled Cas in, and Cas knew it. The girls would skin them alive if they ruined this for them because they couldn't keep it in their pants.

Dean checked himself in the filmy mirror one more time. His tie was straight, suspenders even, hair perfect. He was ready for a night out.

Sam sat at the table researching for his and Charlie's act. Sam was always eager to learn more, and Dean never discouraged him. Running off before Sam was even fifteen meant no formal education, but Sam had always been bright enough to learn what he wanted to know himself.

“How do I look?” Dean asked, holding his arms out, so Sam could get a good look at him.

“You want an honest answer?” Sam teased, smiling.

Dean rolled his eyes, waving Sam off. He pulled on his jacket and made sure that he had his wallet in his pants.

“Have a good night out with the girls,” Sam told him, leaning back in his chair until it balanced on its two back legs.

“You have fun writing to Miss Moore,” Dean said, giving Sam a significant look. Sam stopped in his tracks, shocked. “What? You think I'm a fool?” Dean asked. “Hiding your letter between my books wasn't exactly your brightest idea.”

Sam actually blushed, bringing his hand up to push the too long strands out of his face. “I thought it was the wrong way when I took it out,” he said, smart not to deny it.

“Look, Sam. I can't stop you. I think you're lookin' for trouble, but if trouble's what you want, have at it. You're a grown man, and as much as that pains me to admit, you've been a man longer than your years let on. So, if you love Miss Moore, I won't stand in your way. I hope you have your happy ending,” Dean said, twirling the keys to Bobby's truck in his hand.

“You really mean that?” Sam asked, sounding as skeptical as Dean expected him to.

“Yeah, Sam. I mean it. You deserve a great girl like Miss Moore, and I don't think a girl could get luckier than having you.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“Don't get caught though. I have an act I'd like to get to perform before I die,” Dean told him, trying to sound gruff.

Sam just laughed at him. “I'll do my best. Try to keep Jo out of trouble tonight. Ellen's got enough gray hairs from her already,” Sam told him, lowering his chair and going back to his book.

“I can only do so much. I'm not a miracle worker, Sam.”

“Then have Cas keep an eye on her. He's obviously a miracle worker if he got you to agree to the costume he said he did,” Sam teased.

“I'm leaving.” Dean could hear Sam's laughter even when the door slammed closed behind him.

Cas was standing about five feet from Dean's trailer, and Dean had to suppress a groan. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't give my brother anymore fodder,” Dean told him, stepping into Cas' space to straighten his damn tie. It seemed that no matter how well he dressed, he couldn't tie a tie to save his life. “Didn't they have these things in the military?”

“Not in the field,” Castiel said, clearly suffering through Dean's correction to his outfit.

“If I don't do this, Jo will, and she just might strangle you.”

Castiel's whole body seemed to get behind his eye roll, and Dean gave him a gentle shove for being a dick.

Jo and Charlie met them at Bobby's car. Jo was holding the keys to her mother's truck as well, and she was smiling so brightly that Dean knew trouble was brewing.

“I'll drive Charlie, and you drive Cas,” Jo said, tossing her key up in the air and catching it swiftly.

“Whatever you say,” Dean agreed, opening up Bobby's truck. Cas got into the passenger seat and waited for Dean to pull out behind Jo. Dean glanced over at him and smiled. “I suppose this is a date for us,” he said, only just realizing that this would be their first date.

Castiel nodded at him. “Is that something you are alright with?” he asked, reaching his hand over to place it on Dean's thigh, massaging softly.

“It's just different,” Dean said, keeping his eyes on the road as Jo lead the way to their destination.

Dean sat beside Cas in the booth at dinner. It was just a small town diner, but the food was delicious. Jo sat across from him, batting her beautiful eyes at him from time to time even though her and Charlie's hands were clasped beneath the table. The girls put on a good show of being interested in their “dates,” and Dean relaxed as they ate their meals.

He was halfway through his burger when Castiel's hand found his beneath the table. They were both using their hands to eat, so it was a brief gesture, but it made the whole situation more real. Dean glanced over at him, and he couldn't fight his smile as he watched burger juice drip down Cas' chin.

“You've got something,” Dean said, lifting his hand to wipe it away without even thinking.

Charlie laughed as Dean cleaned Cas up, and that was the only thing that kept him from popping his thumb into his mouth to clean it. He remembered that they were in public and let his arm fall back beneath the table.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas whispered for only Dean's ears, and it made his pulse race.

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch. Dean could tell that Charlie and Jo were having a good time being out and getting to be together. Dean was having a good time as well. Cas tended to sit a hair too close, but his hand on Dean's knee was welcome.

“What are we going to see?” Dean asked as he fought with Cas over the bill. Cas held it out of reach insisting that he would pay for it. Dean grumbled, but he didn't want to make a scene.

“ _Shane_ ,” Charlie told him.

“ _Shane_?” Dean asked.

“It's a western, Dean. We thought that since you are obsessed with the old west, that would be the best option,” Charlie told him, sounding far too smug for a woman who once vowed to marry Kate Hepburn before she died.

“I don't have an obsession,” Dean groaned.

“Dean, you bought a cowboy hat with all the money you had in your wallet when we rolled through Oklahoma three years ago,” Jo said, not taking his bullshit as usual.

Cas gave him a sidelong glance that set his pulse racing, and he tried to find the words to defend himself, but they weren't coming. “It's not an obsession,” he repeated, but they all knew the truth.

“Don't feel bad, Dean. You look real good in that hat,” Charlie told him, sounding like she was just suppressing her laughter. Dean rolled his eyes and stole her milkshake from her, talking a long gulp of it. Jo kicked him under the table for that, but he still grinned at her when he was finished, foam creating a thick mustache on his upper lip.

They walked across the street to the theater, and Dean insisted on paying for everyone's ticket. Cas didn't protest, but when the lights went down he slipped his hand into Dean's and squeezed it. “Thank you,” he whispered, slipping past him to take the seat on the other side of Charlie.

The girls sat beside each other, whispering to each other throughout the film. Dean didn't mind so much. He enjoyed the film, and it wasn't like he was going to talk Cas' ear off through the whole thing. It was just as well that he sat on the end of the aisle watching as Shane rode off as Joey called him back. It was easier to hide how misty-eyed he was.

Jo slipped her hand into his as they walked out. “You enjoy it?” she asked quietly, so he had to lean down to answer her.

“I'd say it was good,” Dean tried to sound cool, but Jo saw right through it.

“You were so into it that you didn't hear anything we said to you,” she teased. “Charlie threw a piece of popcorn at you, and you didn't even flinch.”

Dean laughed. “I enjoyed it,” he agreed.

“Good,” Jo said, smiling up at him. She leaned up to kiss his cheek as they followed Cas and Charlie out of the theater. Charlie had her arm wrapped around Cas,’ talking to him quietly as they walked. Dean could just hear Cas asking about the culture of westerns. She was explaining all about it, laughing at Cas' expressions.

Dean smiled. This felt good. It felt right. He was with his friends having a good time. As they walked out to the trucks, Jo gave him a wink as he opened the door to her vehicle for her. “I'll follow you to the dance hall,” he said.

When he and Cas were in their own truck, Cas turned to him smiling. “I learned something new about you,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It isn't an obsession. I just like westerns,” Dean told him, but Cas kept smiling.

“It was a good movie. I do not think it is an awful interest to have,” Cas assured him.

“Which ones do you like?” Dean asked.

“I haven't seen many films,” Cas admitted.

“No? What have you seen?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled shyly. “ _Gone with the Wind_ ,” he admitted.

“That's it? You haven't seen another movie?” Dean asked, shocked.

“There wasn't much opportunity at home. The Russian military was not like the United States—our finest actors and actresses were not entertaining us when we were not on the battle field. And in France, there was not much time to enjoy such frivolities when we had an act to build, but Anna and I went to see _Gone with the Wind_ when it was playing at a smaller theater. She loved it,” Cas said.

“Wow, this was your second movie. Shit,” Dean said, looking at the road ahead of them as Jo drove through the city toward the dance hall they were going to.

“You have seen many?” Cas asked.

“Not all that many, but I always tried to save a little money so Sammy and I could go to the cinema. It was a tradition of sorts,” Dean explained, pulling into a spot close to the hall. He turned the car off and looked at Cas with a smile. “I'll have to take you again.”

“I would like that very much,” Cas told him before getting out of the truck.

Dean couldn't wipe the smile off his face as they escorted the girls into the dance hall. Dean offered to buy everyone drinks while the girls scouted out a table. So, Cas escorted the girls, and Dean headed over to the counter. He ordered everyone something to drink before making his way back over to the table. Charlie already had Cas out on the dance floor by the time Dean sat down.

“She wastes no time,” he said to Jo, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“She loves to dance,” Jo said, smiling as Charlie laughed among the crowd. She was trying to show Cas how to do the newest popular dance, but he didn't seem to grasp it.

Dean knew Cas was a magnificent dancer. However, he tended to stick to the traditional things, so this was not Cas' forte. Still, he tried with great enthusiasm, following Charlie's lead and laughing with her when he made a mistake.

“He's not as stuck up as you thought, is he?” Jo asked, bumping Dean's shoulder.

“No. He's something else, though,” Dean replied, squeezing her close to his side. “Should we join them?” he asked, and Jo nodded.

Dean guided her out to the dance floor beside Charlie and Cas, and they did the dance flawlessly while Charlie tried to show Cas how to do it once again. Jo laughed as Dean lifted her up and spun before setting her down again.

Eventually, Charlie tapped on his shoulder and demanded a dance with someone other than Cas. Dean went to take her hand, but Jo beat him to it with a laugh. Cas looked at him in surprise as the girls quickly got into the dance. Dean rubbed the back of his neck before motioning for Cas over. He showed Cas the steps, and they did the dance together.

They didn't get too many looks as the girls danced right beside them, laughing loudly as Cas learned from Dean. Dean and Cas bumped heads when Cas tried to look down at his feet, and Dean tried to lean in to talk to him.

Dean laughed, smiling as Cas looked back up at him. “It's alright. This dance will be replaced by a new one within the month. The ones you know will stay around,” Dean told him as Cas stepped on his toes again.

They danced for several hours, swapping partners in and out. They were clearly the outsiders and thankfully no one bothered Jo or Charlie; Dean had felt more than one knife on Jo throughout the night, and he didn't want to see them come out.

When they finally staggered back to the cars, they were all exhausted and smiling.

“I'll lead us home,” Dean said to Jo as he opened her door for her one last time. Charlie was giggling something into Cas' ear that Dean knew was something about how similar he and Jo were, and probably was something embarrassing about their preferences in the bedroom. Charlie was mischievous like that.

“Very well, my prince. Lead us home,” Jo laughed, slapping Dean on the ass as he turned away from her. He rolled his eyes at Cas over the bed of the truck, and Cas just laughed.

“Come on, Casanova. Let's get these dames home,” Dean said, unlocking his door and sliding into the seat. Cas got into the passenger seat and immediately pulled Dean's hand into his lap.

“That was not nearly as wild as you insisted it would be,” Cas said as Dean put the truck in gear and pulled out into the street.

“We aren't home yet, Cas,” Dean told him, checking his mirror to make sure Jo pulled out behind them.

Sure enough, as soon as they pulled out onto the rural roads on the edge of the city, Jo pulled up alongside them in the oncoming lane of traffic. “Race ya,” she shouted as Cas rolled down his window. Charlie was hanging out the passenger window of Ellen's truck, her once neatly styled hair blowing in the wind.

Cas looked over at Dean in surprise. Dean grinned, pressing the accelerator down and pulling ahead of the girls. Jo, not one to be outdone, gunned it, pulling alongside them again then pulling out ahead as a pair of headlights appeared far up ahead of them. She raced Dean until pulling in front of him moments before the other car passed them, horn blaring.

“Has she lost her mind?” Cas asked watching Jo drive on ahead.

“Recently, no, but she did lose it years ago, and it's never returned,” Dean said, shifting gears and pushing Bobby's shoddy engine to catch up.

They raced each other for several miles, pulling alongside each other then away every chance they got. Dean had taught Jo to drive Ellen's pick up like a race car driver, and she was pulling out all of his tricks to beat him up to the Point.

Gravel sprayed as Jo pulled up to the edge of the road overlooking the city below. Dean pulled in beside her as Cas clutched at the door and seat.

“Not bad for an old man,” Jo called as Dean put the car in park.

“You've got quite a mouth on you for a lady,” Dean called over.

“She sure does,” Charlie said back, and Jo laughed so hard she snorted.

Dean smiled, leaning over to roll up Cas' window. He got out of the truck and dug through the back for the beer he'd stowed there. Jo grabbed one for her and Charlie and went to sit on the hood of the truck. Dean did the same and joined Cas at the front of the truck.

“There are not as many stars out here as in the fields,” Cas said, sounding disturbed by this.

“We aren't out here for the stars tonight Cas. Never heard of Lovers Lane?” he asked, crowding into Cas' space.

“No.”

“Young people here in America drive to these secluded areas on the edge of town and neck with each other...or you know,” Dean said, looking down at Cas' lap pointedly.

“And you have a name for this?” Cas asked.

“Sure do,” Dean said, laughing as Cas wrinkled his nose. “You're supposed to kiss me, not critique my culture,” Dean told him, leaning in close.

“But, what if someone catches us?” Cas asked.

“It is a Tuesday night, Cas. Patrols aren't wasting their time coming up here. Even the bad boys have curfews,” Dean said, pointing over at Jo and Charlie who had their foreheads pressed together and were whispering to each other. “They aren't worried.”

“They just led us on a high speed chase,” Cas deadpanned.

“Just kiss me, Cas,” Dean said.

Cas did as he was told, cupping Dean's jaw and kissing him softly. Dean stood between his spread legs, hands pressed to the hood of the car as he deepened the kiss. Dean groaned, pushing his hips forward as Cas kissed along his jaw to his neck. He nibbled at Dean's earlobe, leaving Dean gasping.

Dean squeezed Cas' thighs, pressing forward just a little further. It was dizzying to kiss Cas out in the open even if no one but Jo and Charlie were around. Dean had never felt so free in his life, trading nips and pecks with Cas on the hood of Bobby's truck.

Cas leaned back, pulling Dean half on top of him, using the fender for leverage. Dean ran his fingers through Cas' hair, leaving it in disarray. They pulled back, both breathing heavily and looking into each other eyes as the girls moved from the hood of their own car to the front seat.

“Looks like the girls have other plans,” Dean said, and Castiel palmed the front of Dean's pants. “You have other plans too?” Cas smiled at him suggestively. Dean shook his head, stepped down off the hood and helping Cas down too. “It's the bed or nothing because the seat ain't gonna fit us both,” Dean whispered in Cas' ear.

“You think this is my first time making love under the stars?” Cas asked.  
Dean took a sharp breath as Cas said it out loud. He reached into the cab of the truck and removed the blankets he kept in there for emergencies, and he took the small pack he'd buried beneath it for other types of emergencies.

Cas took the blankets from him and set them down in the bed of the truck. Dean knelt beside him, watching as Cas removed his coat and folded it neatly. He placed it at the front of the bed and turned to Dean. Dean pulled his off as well, handing it over.

Dean could hear soft gasps coming from the other truck as Cas rolled up his sleeves then unbuttoned his trousers. A shuddered gasp came from one of the girls as Cas reached forward to undo Dean's pants as well. Dean felt his cock swell with the sounds of pleasure and the impending pleasure of his own.

“Lie down,” Cas ordered softly, guiding Dean onto the thick blankets. Dean laid down on his back, shivering as Cas stretched out over him, and it had nothing to do with the evening air. Dean was going to make a crack about putting out on the first date, but Cas ground against him, and Dean lost all capability of speech.

“You looked good dancing tonight,” Cas said, unfastening Dean's suspenders. He tugged Dean's pants down to his mid thighs and pressed his palm to Dean's erection. Dean just whimpered as Cas rubbed him firmly. “Wanted to take you right there,” Cas told him, pushing his hand up the open leg of the underwear and gripping Dean's straining cock.

Dean bit his lip as Cas stroked him, leaning in close to suck on Dean's collarbone. Dean could hear Charlie in the other car. Her voice was husky, but Dean couldn't make out what she was saying. It didn't matter though, just the knowledge that the girls were right there added a hint of danger that had Dean even more turned on.

Cas continued to stroke him as he straddled Dean's thighs to reach for the bag Dean had packed. Dean watched Cas rummage through it with a smile. He removed the jar that Dean had placed all the way at the bottom and held it in his palm. He cocked his head to the side, looking down at Dean before placing it on the blankets beside Dean's hips and gripping Dean's boxers with both hands.

They came down with one firm tug from Cas, and Dean looked up at Cas as his cock bobbed in the open air. Cas pulled Dean's pants down further and spread Dean's legs enough to make room for Cas' hips.

Dean felt anticipation trickle down his spine as Cas twisted the lid off the jar and dipped his thumb into the petroleum jelly inside. Dean couldn't take his eyes off of Cas' face as Cas brought his thumb to Dean's ass. He rubbed against his hole, pressing hard enough that Dean knew what was to come, but not enough to get there yet.

Dean felt his body clench involuntarily at the arousing sensation. His mind reminded him of every fantasy he'd had of Cas since he met him. Cas wasn't rushed, even though they certainly did not have all night. Instead, he continued to circle Dean's entrance, teasing him with gentle touches.

Dean squeezed his knees against Cas' hips, reaching up to grip the front of Cas' shirt. “We don't have all night, Cas. I suggest you figure out what to do with that finger,” Dean told him, but even before he could finish the rest of the sentence, Cas slid his thumb in, stealing Dean's breath.

Dean collapsed back against the blankets again, gasping as Cas pressed his thumb in and out of him several times before removing it. “Is that what you were looking for?” Cas asked, picking up the jar again and making a show of dipping his middle and index finger into the thick substance.

“More,” Dean begged, wanting Cas to fuck him in earnest.

Cas smiled down at him, lowering his hand and pushing his index finger in slowly. He hooked it forward as he moved it deeper and suddenly Dean was arching his back up and crying out, not understanding why it felt so good. It felt as though shocks of pleasure were traveling through his whole body as Cas massaged deep inside him with his long fingers.

Dean whimpered as Cas pulled his finger back before pushing it in deep again. Gripping Cas' shoulders as he pumped his finger in and out of him, Dean couldn't control the noises he was making. His body bucked up to meet Cas' fingers as Cas slowly eased a second one alongside the first.

Cas kissed Dean hungrily as he opened Dean up with his hands. Dean reached down between them to fumble with Cas' pants, pulling his cock out and gripping it unsteadily as Cas continued to take him apart.

The girls in the other car were both loudly making love as Cas removed his fingers from Dean. He looked at Dean steadily as he stroked his own cock a couple of times. “You want this?” he asked.

“Damn right, I want it, Cas,” Dean told him, bucking his hips so his cock brushed Cas' fist. Cas smirked at him.

“Have you thought about this, Dean?” Cas asked, coating his cock in the Vaseline as well and nudging at Dean's entrance, but not pressing in. “I want to hear what you fantasized about. I've seen the way you look at me when we practice. I've felt you. I can practically hear your dirty thoughts. Tell them to me,” Cas ordered softly, putting pressure against Dean then removing it.

Dean's eyes widened. “Right now?” he asked, reaching down to stroke his own cock, but Cas knocked his hands away. He was clearly in control right now.

“Yes, Dean. Right now.”

Dean took a moment to focus on what he'd imagined Cas doing to him. “I thought about sucking your cock, Cas. You stretching my lips with your size. I thought about you pressing me down in the mud, ass in the air and just taking me hard. Holding me down and not easing up until I came all over myself,” Dean said, pausing as he remembered his multiple fantasies about the silks. “You tied me up in them once. The silks, you know? You used them like a swing...”

Dean groaned as Cas slowly began to push inside him. He was bigger than his fingers, stretching Dean further as he slowly sunk into him. Dean realized Cas had wanted him distracted when he started, because now Dean couldn't focus on anything except how he felt like he was being split in two.

“Keep telling me, Dean. Did you enjoy me taking you in the silks?” Cas asked him, leaning in to kiss Dean gently.

“It was amazing,” Dean gasped, holding tightly to Cas as Cas pulled back very slightly, before pushing in a little further. Dean felt tears in his eyes as Cas pushed a little more. “It felt—”

Dean couldn't finish, biting his lip as Cas began to stroke his cock. “Relax, Dean. If you focus on relaxing, it will be easier,” Cas told him, kissing the wetness on his cheek. Dean turned his face away, feeling ashamed for tearing up as Cas entered him. He should be able to handle this. He took his fingers all the time. “Look at me, Dean,” Cas ordered, letting go of Dean's cock to tip his chin to him.

Turning his head, Dean couldn't look anywhere other than Cas' searching eyes. “It takes getting used to. You are doing so well,” he promised, stopping his movements.

“Please,” Dean begged, wanting to take all of Cas.

Cas pushed in the rest of the way in one slow movement, and Dean could barely breathe as he felt every inch of Castiel. Slowly, Cas pulled back completely as he dipped his fingers into the jar and added more both to himself and inside Dean. Then he sank into Dean again. Dean took it easier and after several thrusts, he relaxed enough to realize that he was no longer hard.

Dean flushed, but Cas kissed him hungrily. “How did I take you in the silks, Dean?” he asked. Dean told him about it, feeling himself becoming aroused again as the pain subsided and Cas began to stroke him.

His pants around his ankles prevented Dean from wrapping his legs around Cas' waist, but Castiel guided Dean's hands around his neck instead. Dean held him tightly, kissing him passionately between gasps of pleasure.

Cas was gentle with him, never thrusting too hard or too fast, letting their pleasure build achingly slow. Cas was a giving lover, focusing on Dean entirely. He kissed him and nibbled his jaw and neck. He encouraged Dean to explore wherever he wanted and when Dean brought his hands down to cup Cas' ass, he didn't protest.

Cas' fingers were firm around his cock as he teased the head on every smooth stroke. The excess Vaseline on his hand lubricated his movements, and Dean panted softly.

Dean couldn't think of anything beyond the two of them; not the girls, not the fact that they were outside in a park, not the shame of what they were doing. His world was just him and Cas and the pleasure between them. There was discomfort just as there was in the silks, but the satisfaction ran much deeper than the ache did.

“I thought about you too, Dean,” Cas whispered as Dean was getting close. He brought his hand lower to massage Dean's balls as he slid into him deeply. “I thought about how good you'd look spread wide as you took me deep, and I thought about how beautiful you'd be when you came for me,” Cas whispered, stroking Dean's cheek.

Dean couldn't hold back any longer. He didn't have the words to warn Cas as his body convulsed in pleasure. Dean was aware of Cas watching him as he shook, coming between them and making a mess of both their shirts. He clenched down on Cas involuntarily as his orgasm continued to wash over him.

Gasping as he collapsed back against the blankets and their jackets, Dean blinked up to see Cas shaking, mouth slightly open and eyes closed. He was beautiful as he gasped very softly before opening his eyes and smiling at Dean.

“More beautiful than even the best fantasy,” Cas whispered.

Dean felt himself blush, and then he cringed as Cas slowly pulled out. He was tender, but Cas kissed him, rubbing his side as he finally slid free. Dean felt something wet drip out as Cas pulled away, and he fought down his embarrassment.

When Cas knelt between his thighs and bent to lap at Dean's entrance, Dean felt his whole body tense. Cas' tongue was gentle, dipping into Dean's ass and pulling back. Dean sighed as he became used to it, and by the time Cas pulled away and leaned over him again, Dean was half asleep and completely sated. He still felt an ache inside him, but Cas had soothed the worst of the pain by helping him relax.

Cas didn't say anything as he pulled Dean's pants up for him and fixed his suspenders again. He laid down beside Dean when his own clothes were to rights, and he pulled Dean against his body.

Dean rolled onto his side, pulled Cas into a slow kiss that ended gradually as they both began to doze. Dean was vaguely aware of the world around them as he drifted in a sea of contentment.

“Boys, it's getting' late. Let's get a move on,” Jo called after nearly an hour of them just lying there.

Dean sat up, a little disoriented, glancing over at Jo in the driver's seat of her mom's truck. Her hair was a mess and her lipstick was completely smudged. There was no denying what she'd been up to, not that he looked any more decent.

She grinned at him. “Let's go. I want to race you home,” she teased.

Cas groaned, still lying down. Dean looked down at him, but he smiled at Dean. “Not a fan of Jo's driving?” Dean asked, smiling at him.

“She wants to kill us,” Cas said, pushing himself up onto his elbows and tilting his head up. Dean bent to kiss him, but Jo whistled ruining the moment.

“You two are just a sweet as pie,” she said, starting her truck's engine.

Dean rolled his eyes, getting out of the bed of the truck. He felt his body strain at the movement, but Castiel was there immediately, guiding him to take it easier. Dean pushed him off. A little pain was nothing, but as soon as he sat in the driver's seat, he groaned.

“It will get easier,” Cas whispered, squeezing Dean's knee.

“I'm fine, Cas. Don't know what you're talkin' about,” Dean insisted, starting the engine and putting the truck in reverse. Cas shook his head, but he kept all comments to himself.

The drive back to the fairgrounds was not without excitement as Jo drove like a madwoman, windows down and howling into the night with Charlie adding her own voice to the call. Cas smiled at Dean as they held hands atop the clutch.

When they pulled into the camp, Dean killed the engine and turned to Cas. “I guess this is it,” he said.

“I believe we had a bet which I won,” Cas said, smiling smugly.

Dean had completely forgotten about the wager. “Jo's driving didn't turn you off?” Dean hedged.

“No.”

“Charlie's dancing?”

“Never.”

“Fine. What is your prize?” Dean asked.

“I would like it very much if you spent the night with me. You may say no, but I would be honored if you returned to my trailer with me,” Cas said, running his thumb over Dean's knuckles.

Dean sat back, taking a deep breath. Tonight had been wonderful, but now they were back home. He couldn't just spend the night in another man's trailer without there being talk.

“I...”

“Forget I asked,” Cas told him. “Good night, Dean,” he said, bringing Dean's knuckles to his lips and brushing them with a soft kiss. He was out of the truck and escorting the girls back to their own trailers before Dean could reply.

Dean walked back to his trailer with a slight limp and a heaviness to his shoulders. He was up the stairs for his trailer before he turned and walked away, heading for Cas'. He climbed the steps and knocked softly.

Cas opened the door, shirt already unbuttoned and untucked. Dean stepped inside and gripped him by the loose material, kissing him fiercely as the door fell shut.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was hanging in the silks late one evening after the show was long over. They were only two stops away from the debut of his act with Cas, and his nerves had been growing steadily over the last few weeks. Cas insisted that Dean was ready. They hadn't collided in weeks. They moved together, adjusting with each other as naturally as if they'd been doing this together their entire lives. Their program looked good, even Meg said so, and she wasn't one to sugarcoat anything.

Dean felt a tug on the material, and he opened his eyes. Looking down, he saw Cas below smiling at him.

“I thought your muscles ached too much to work tonight,” Dean said. He'd had to help Cas back to his trailer after the curtain call. Cas practiced with Dean, and he practiced his own routine alone, and then he put on a show every night. It was wearing him thin. Cas had a bandage beneath his tights from a burn he'd developed from too many hours practicing. The rest of him was equally overworked, and it worried Dean as much as their impending debut.

“Not here to practice,” Cas said softly. “Miss Masters brought me our costumes.”

“Why did Meg have our costumes?” Dean asked, lowering himself while still in position.

“She made them,” Cas said as though it was obvious. Maybe it was, just not to Dean. Before he could comment, Cas continued, “She is one of the best. She's been making costumes since she was a child.”

Dean got his feet back under him and on the ground. Cas wrapped his arm around Dean's waist as he shook off the silks. He pulled Dean into his body, and Dean went with it, wrapping his own arms around Cas.

“Do they look good?” Dean asked him.

“Meg does not do bad work,” Cas corrected him.

“Fine, show me what I'll be wearing,” Dean said, allowing Cas to pull him over to his clothes. Dean didn't bother to dress, just pulling on his boots and wrapping his arm around Cas' shoulders.

They walked slowly to Cas' trailer, then inside. Cas moved over to his bed, lifting up the costumes. Dean took his, looking over the stitches and sizing. He'd been sewing since he was about eight years old—when they couldn't afford new clothes, Dean had to make do with what he had to clothe Sam and himself. Meg's stitches held up to his scrutiny.

Dean looked up at Cas who was watching him. “Looks good enough,” Dean said, placing it on the table and tugging down his tights. Cas watched him as he carefully pulled on the striped crimson tights, tucking himself into them carefully. Castiel took the shorts before Dean could get to them and knelt in front of him.

He tilted his head to look at Dean as he slowly dragged the shorts up Dean's legs and over his thighs, rising as he did so. Dean kissed him when he straightened up, then pushed Cas away to secure the suspenders over his shoulders.

“I think it's only fair that you put yours on as well,” Dean told Cas as Cas circled him, humming his approval.

“I think that for the sake of our new costumes and to protect us from Miss Master's wrath, that I do not,” Cas told him, giving Dean a look that said he doubt Dean's self-control.

“Fine, how do I look?” Dean asked, sighing exaggeratedly.

“The audience will not be able to take their eyes off you,” Cas promised. Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled off the costume and folded it neatly. He pulled on his pants as Cas placed both of their costumes into his chest for safe keeping.

Dean stepped behind Cas as he straightened up too slowly. He wrapped his arms around Cas' waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Lie down. Let me take a look at your leg,” Dean said, guiding him to the cot even though he could walk there himself.

“I am fine, Dean,” Cas insisted, but Dean pushed him down onto his back anyway. Cas let Dean strip him down and massage his leg muscles from ankle to hip. When he got to the thick bandage around Cas' thigh, he stopped to carefully remove it.

The skin was angry and red with a couple blisters that had formed because Cas had refused to let Dean take a look at it sooner. Dean pressed a kiss just inside Cas' knee, far enough away from the injury not to disturb it.

Cas sighed as Dean dipped his fingers into an ointment Cas had, and soothed it over the raw skin. “Even you have limits, Cas,” Dean told him, massaging the muscles around the burn, knowing that Cas' skin wasn't the only part of him that had been taking a beating.

Cas relaxed as Dean wrapped his thigh again before helping Cas onto his belly. He straddled Cas' hips and worked the tension out of Cas' back and arms.

“This is really going to happen isn't it?” Dean asked, using his elbow to work at a knot in Cas' shoulder area.

“Yes, Dean. You have worked very hard for this, and you will get to see the fruit of your achievements,” Cas told him.

Dean didn't speak for a while, focusing instead on Castiel's body. There were bruises all over him, and Meg had been putting makeup over the worst of them when he performed. Cas had worked just as hard for this.

“I'd be nothing without you, Cas,” he said softly, pressing kisses to Cas' shoulders and lying over his body. He laid with Cas until Cas fell asleep, quick to ease any aches that arose when he shifted.

Only two weeks later, Dean stood behind the curtain in just the costume Meg had made for him. He paced back and forth as Cas sat silently on a chair. “How do you do this every night?” Dean asked, turning to make another circle around the backstage area.

“Dean, I've faced mortar fire. There isn't a single thing those people can do to me that is worse than my own past,” Cas said, stretching out his legs.

Dean paused, looking at Cas. It always stopped him in his tracks when Cas mentioned the war. It was so easy to forget how Cas had gotten here. It was easy to forget that his stoic attitude was hard won through years of seeing hell itself.

“I've never faced that, Cas,” Dean told him.

“You've overcome so much to get here, Dean. No reaction the audience has can take that away from you. You aren't performing for them. They are simply here to bear witness to your achievements,” Cas said, motioning Dean over to him.

Dean went to him, allowing Cas to pull him down into a set of stretches, so he would be ready when Michael announced them. Dean was starting to relax with the familiarity of it when Gabriel walked past.

“Break a leg, Dean-o,” he said cheerfully, and suddenly Dean was on edge again.

“He threatened me,” he said to Cas, but Cas pulled him in for a kiss, silencing his racing thoughts.

“And now tonight, performing together for the very first time, for your pleasure: Castiel, the man who can fly, performs with aerial extraordinaire, Dean, in a silks piece that will leave you breathless,” Michael announced from the center of the ring.

Dean took a breath, gripping Cas' hand tightly as the lights went down and the music began to play. He forced himself to walk slowly to the ring, pointing his feet with every step. Castiel walked beside him, and they reached the silks together. They each took one piece of the material in their hands.

Cas took his material and pulled it around Dean's waist, bringing Dean in close until they both stepped apart, taking their own silk with them. They stopped, standing across from each other then they ran, taking three leaps and into the air they went. Dean pulled himself up into the stag position, circling the ring with Castiel, and looking at nothing but him.

He climbed higher, falling into the inverted position and stretching his leg out. They came together, their feet pressed to each other’s hip, spinning together, until they each bent their knee, bringing them closer then pushed apart again. They did this several times as they slowed.

Dean was the first to move, pulling himself upright and climbing higher. He grasped both silks and hung between them, legs pointed straight down. Cas climbed up after him, taking his ankles and hanging from Dean.

Looking down, Dean watched as Castiel did a split as Dean held them both up. Cas released one of his ankles and brought his leg up into an arabesque. Dean slowed his breathing and lifted his own free leg up to catch the silks with his toes, doing an arabesque to mirror Cas'.

Dean didn't focus on the applause they received, instead lowering his leg again and waiting for Cas to take the silks. Cas climbed up and over him to hang up near the rigging. Dean wrapped his thighs and back and lowered himself into a split, then hung upside down.

Cas climbed down, letting Dean take hold of his ankles before letting go and swinging down. Dean held him tightly as he hung from Dean's arms, doing splits and contorting his body. He brought his arm up to grasp Dean's, and he righted himself.

Dean pulled him up until their faces were almost touching, and Cas wrapped his legs in the silks, getting a steady hold. Then Dean righted himself and climbed higher.

Cas followed him up, and they separated onto their own silks again. They mirrored each other’s movements as they wrapped their waists and lowered themselves to hang horizontally. They pressed their feet together and faced apart from each other.

Dean lifted his leg, gripping it tightly and pulling it up toward his chest into a split. Cas did the same, and they spun slowly, lowering their legs until they pointed straight up in the air.

Cas was Dean's complete focus as they worked through their routine. He didn't look out into the audience. In fact, his eyes never strayed from Cas', as if they were performing only for each other. He didn't worry about his smile—it wouldn't fade as long as Cas was watching him intently.

They switched positions, and Cas anchored himself in the silks, legs together and bent, the material folded like a swing for him. Dean grasped his hands and they began to swing.

Dean went through his poses, continuing to build momentum until they let go, Dean pulling his body in to do a flip and trusting Cas would catching his legs. Dean grinned as Cas caught him.

The crowd cheered and rose to applaud as the music winded down, and they climbed back down to take a bow. Castiel gripped Dean's hand tightly as they bowed, turned, and bowed again.

“You did well,” Castiel said into Dean's ear as they jogged out of the tent.

“We did, didn't we?” Dean smiled, pulling Cas into a hug as soon as they were beyond the curtain. The others slapped them on the back and congratulated them. Sam lifted Dean right off the ground in a massive hug.

Performer after performer came up to hug them, and Dean had never felt so wanted in his life. Cas finally pulled him back to his side as they lined up for the curtain call. Once everyone else had been called out, Dean pulled Cas in for a kiss as they waited to be called.

“You were right,” Dean said, then started running out into the tent again. The audience gave another roar as they made their way to the center, and Dean let himself focus on them for the first time. There was no booing or disappointment. Everyone seemed genuinely impressed by them.

Afterward, the celebrations around the camp were raucous, and Dean couldn't walk from one trailer to the next without being accosted with a hug or toast in his honor. He laughed as Jo and Charlie lifted him up and tried to carry him to the bonfire, only to drop him five feet later. They fell over laughing, and Dean couldn't help but join in as he helped both women to their feet.

Castiel disappeared in the commotion, and after Dean had had his fill of celebrating, he wandered back to the big tent. He found Cas hanging upside down, legs out wide, holding him only seven or eight feet above the ground.

“They're celebrating us,” Dean said, stopping directly beneath Cas.

“They are celebrating you,” Cas corrected him.

Dean frowned. “No, it's our act. It's us.”

“I have been performing for months, Dean. No one has ever toasted to my success. No one has ever celebrated all night to my success. This is for you, and you deserve all of it,” Castiel said, looking down at him with a sedate smile.

Dean thought about it. Castiel was correct. He hadn't received a resounding welcome. He'd done what he was hired to do—sales were up, and their livelihood was secure, but no one thanked Cas for that.

Reaching up, Dean took Cas' hands in his. “Well, you're the only reason I'm here right now, and I want to thank you for that,” Dean said, squeezing Cas' hands.

Cas dropped several feet with just the adjustment of his legs. He was just above Dean's head, and he reached beneath Dean's arms, pulling him up into the air. “You are worth it all,” Cas whispered, pulling Dean up another inch and capturing his lips. Dean closed his eyes, hanging by Castiel's power and letting Cas kiss him. He nipped at Cas' lips as Cas smiled against his own.

Dean didn't know how long they hung like that, kissing and whispering to each other. They turned slowly with the twist of the silks, and nothing existed but them.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

“Have you seen the newspaper?” Sam asked, stepping into the trailer. It was raining again. Dean felt like all it did this circuit was rain. He'd unpacked and packed up the tent and equipment in the rain so many times now that he was starting to wonder if he was living in a fishbowl.

“No,” Dean said, feeling disgruntled after a night of poor sleep.

Dean hadn't fully understood the emotional yo-yo that was performing every night. Some nights he couldn't come down from the high he got without Cas wearing him out in the bedroom. Others he couldn't turn his brain off, nitpicking the whole routine until the sun came up if Cas didn't distract him. Sometimes he made love to Dean slowly those nights, and others they just touched each other and talked until nothing existed but them.

Last night, Cas had gone straight back to his trailer after their performance, and when Dean went to check on him, he hadn't answered the door. He'd spoken with Gabriel before the show, but he hadn't seemed bothered when he came to find Dean before their performance.

It didn't matter. Dean had barely slept all night, worried about Cas and worried about their act.

“You made the front page,” Sam said, breaking Dean of his restless thoughts.

“I what?”

“You and Castiel made the front page,” Sam said, holding up the newspaper for Dean to see. Sure enough, there was a picture of the two of them tangled in the silks in the midst of their act. The headline read: _Rising from the Ashes: Breathing Life Back into a Dying Art_. “They love you two,” Sam told him, pulling the paper back and scanning the article. “It says here, 'Winchester, a third generation performer, is everything you want from a new act. He's strong, he's good looking, and he brings fire to every move he makes. His partner goes only by Castiel, and the man may as well have wings. He's a natural in the air, and he brings the mystery of the old greats. You just don't know how gravity has no power over him,” Sam read.

“Sounds like Zachariah hired someone to put asses in seats,” Dean said, not impressed by headlines.

“They mention Charlie and I too,” Sam said, smiling happily. Dean did smile at that. Sam deserved every bit of praise anyone bestowed on him.

“What did they say?” Dean asked.

“They said our act was incredible and unique. A must-see!”

“They're right,” Dean told him, ruffling Sam's hair as he sat down at the table. It reminded him of growing up, being the one to listen to Sam's stories and sign his reports. He would always ruffle Sam's hair when he walked past.

“Ellen and Bobby have a whole stack of these if you want to bring Cas one. I think they bought out the whole stand, they were so proud.”

“I'll be sure to take one when I see them,” Dean said, stepping out into the rain in nothing but his boxers and undershirt.

He walked the ten steps over to Cas' trailer and banged on the door. He stood there out in the pouring rain waiting for over a minute, but Cas didn't answer. Dean sighed, heading over to Bobby's trailer to talk to him.

He stepped into the trailer to find Bobby sitting with a mug of coffee. “I hear you bought out a whole newsstand on account of me and Sam,” Dean said as he poured himself a mug of coffee as well and took a seat next to Bobby.

“A man's allowed to be proud of his nephews, isn't he?” Bobby asked casually.

“I suppose he is,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out.

“Zachariah will be seeing us for the first time when we go back to Lawrence,” Bobby pointed out.

“You think I'm worried,” Dean replied, sipping Bobby's bitter coffee.

“Boy, don't lie to me, you're shit scared that Zachariah's still got it out for Sam. Nothing can go good in your life without you waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Bobby said gruffly. He put his mug down on the table and looked Dean right in the eye. “We aren't letting Zachariah kick you out. You two are a part of this family. We've existed long before Zach got his greedy hands on us, and we'll exist long after he moves on to more lucrative investments. Family is family, and he can't take that from you.”

“He doesn't need to kick us out. He just needs to marry Miss Moore off to one of his associates, or tell Sam he can't perform if he ever speaks to her again. Traveling let us forget how we got here, Bobby. Going back? We have to face it all over again,” Dean said, staring into his mug.

“You face it every time we go back, Dean. I know you drive past the house every time we pull into town, but you come back and keep your head up. Sam's stronger than you think, and he'll keep his chin up just as you do,” Bobby told him.

“It's not the same, Bobby.”

“And why the hell not, Dean?”

“Because he loves her. Because he'll give this all up for her,” Dean said, shifting his legs up to balance on the old table.

Bobby whistled long and low, but he didn't say anything for a long time. “You're afraid to lose him,” he said.

“I don't know what I'm afraid of, Bobby, but I'm afraid.”

Dean found Castiel sitting on the top step of his trailer as he walked back to his own. Cas was smoking, which he didn't do all that often.

“You're a hard man to find today,” Dean said, stopping in front of the steps. The rain was drenching his already damp clothes, but the air was warm, and he didn't much care.

“I have had things on my mind,” Cas said, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“So have I, but I didn't disappear without a word after our performance last night,” Dean retorted.

“You don't exactly make it easy to think, Dean,” Cas said, stubbing out is cigarette and flicking the butt into the bucket beside the stairs.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means when I'm with you, I think about you. I think about how damn much you mean to me, and I think about what I can do to get you to sigh like you've never felt anything so good in your life,” Cas told him, standing up and opening the door. “You coming in?”

Dean didn't reply, just followed Cas up the stairs and inside. There was an empty bottle of whatever poison Cas had offered him months ago on the table, and it was accompanied by an overflowing ashtray.

“What were you thinking about?” Dean asked, breathing in the general stench of the trailer. That wasn't going away any time soon.

“I received a letter from Anna,” Cas said, lifting a letter from the table. The corner of it was charred, as though Cas had either accidentally set it on fire as he tried to read too close to the flame, or purposely set it on fire then had second thoughts.

Dean took the letter from him and looked at it. “I can't read this, Cas,” Dean said, realizing it was in that same foreign alphabet as on the bottle.

“Dearest Castiel. I hope America is treating you well, and I hope that Gabriel has not been too much of a handful. He was always getting into trouble when we were young. The only thing he was better at than getting into trouble was hiding from Father's anger,” Castiel recited, clearly having read the letter enough times to memorize it.

“I know this must feel like an exile to you. You had such success here, and were beloved by the crowds. I am sorry I am the reason for it. I see now how my decision to marry Eugene must have seemed like a betrayal. I am sorry for the pain I caused you and the hardship. We said we would always stay together, but I left you.

“I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but I wrote to ask you back. I gave birth to Clara nearly a year ago, and the physician said I can perform again. I did not think I would wish to, but I miss it. I miss you. I asked Gabriel if you were happy there, but he told me nothing. I can only tell you what is in my heart, and that is longing. I long to have you back here with me,” Castiel finished, attempting to pour something from the empty bottle but getting nothing.

“She wants you back?” Dean was more than a little surprised. He couldn't exactly say why. He knew that he would want Cas back too if he skipped the continent and went to perform halfway across the world. Still, it seemed almost surreal that something so simple as this could end what they had worked so hard for.

“She does.”

“I see,” Dean said, placing the letter back on the tiny table and seeing another one there. “This isn't the first time she wrote you,” he concluded.

“No. One other time. She wrote to tell me of a friend's death,” Cas said, rooting around on the table for a cigarette, but all of the packs and papers were empty. Dean reached into his own pants and handed him one.

“That was the night you offered me this,” Dean said, tapping the bottle. Cas nodded, lighting up. “You told me that you wished you still believed you'd done what was right that night.”

Cas breathed out a cloud of smoke, flipping open the journal the letter had been in. He lifted the picture Dean already knew about and handed it to him. “Balthazar was my best friend. He knew I was a liar and a cheat the moment I appeared in my stolen uniform, but he never said a word about it. His family was wealthy, close ties to the Party. As he put it, he grew up suckling the golden teat. I saved his life, and we became close. Closer than I'd ever been with another before him. When the war ended, he asked me to go home with him. He told me that we would be welcomed back as heroes and we would never be hungry or cold another day of our lives. I didn't go,” Castiel said, ashing his cigarette on the top of the already heaping pile.

“You loved him.”

“He loved me, I believe. I didn't realize it then. Men do things when they haven't seen a willing woman in months, haven't eaten in days, and have forgotten what warmth even feels like. We didn't think anything of them, never mentioned them once we'd cleaned ourselves back up. He was my friend though. But I couldn't go back. I wasn't who I said I was, and I would never belong.”

“But you think you made the wrong choice.”

“No, I was not meant to return. I just realize now that leaving him was not so clean as simply parting ways in the forest. It left carnage. Survival is not neat or pretty.”

“No it's not,” Dean agreed.

“They killed him for being homosexual,” Cas said, taking back the picture from Dean and placing it reverently inside the journal. “All this time, and it took word of his death to realize what he'd been offering me all those years ago.”

Dean didn't know what to say, so he knelt in front of Cas and took his shaking hands. He brought his knuckles to his lips and kissed them.

“What is funny though is Anna forwarding that letter is what made me realize I want to stay here,” Cas said quietly, lifting his hand from Dean's to run it through Dean's wet hair.

“You what?” Dean asked in surprised.

“I want to be with you, Dean. The act comes second,” Cas told him. “It's not easy letting go of the past, but this is where I belong.”

“I...” Dean surged up and kissed Cas desperately. Cas held him close, pulling Dean into his lap, and clinging to him.

Dean pulled on his tights followed by his shorts. Cas was sitting on his bed completely naked as Dean finished getting dressed.

Once Dean's suspenders were in place, he walked over to Cas and knelt down between his spread legs. He checked the scar on his thigh for any irritation, but it had healed over a week ago. Dean just insisted on making sure Cas hadn't opened it up again.

Cas looked up at him as he ran his fingers over the healed flesh. “I am fine, Dean,” he promised.

“Just looking out for you,” Dean told him, getting up off the bed, so Cas could dress himself. “You think we're ready to try this new opening?” Dean asked, beginning the process of doing his makeup in Cas' mirror. He could see Cas behind his shoulder in the mirror.

“I think that we were ready last week. The crowd will be mesmerized, Dean,” Cas promised him. He came to stand behind Dean once he was dressed, kissing Dean's shoulders as he tried to apply eye makeup. Cas ended up doing it for him when Dean couldn't properly concentrate.

They walked over to the tent together, the rain finally having abated. “How is it to be in Lawrence again?” Castiel asked him.

“Strange. I know Sam snuck out even before our arrival was known to Zachariah. He hasn't said anything, but I know he saw Miss Moore. He's too happy not to have,” Dean said as the ducked into the main tent for a meeting.

Zachariah was standing in front of the stands with Michael as usual. They looked just as cheerful as ever as the performers slowly filtered in. Dean had better things to do than listen to Zach talk, like going over the routine in his head again or checking the rigging. Still, he sat down beside Castiel and waited for a headache.

“As you know, tonight we are debuting two new acts to Lawrence. There are going to be several newspapers here, one all the way from New York City, and I expect you all to be on your best behavior. I know you are a troupe of misbehaving children, but tonight, you will act like professionals. Winchester, Castiel, I expect you to talk to the papers and have nothing but good things to say,” Zachariah told him.

Dean nodded along, anxious to get to the actual show. Local boys had made the paper, local boys with Campbell blood. The Campbells had been a circus dynasty before the war. People would come out to see that. People who knew who Sam and Dean were.

“I've got you,” Cas told him as they went through their warm ups.

Sam seemed to be on edge too as he and Charlie worked out some of the kinks in their act. “I know you do, Cas. It's just always hard coming home, harder when you know people are going to come and recognize you,” Dean told him.

Cas squeezed his hand, and Dean squeezed back. They waited back with the others as the stands started to fill and the show began. Dean's mind eased a little when Sam performed, and the crowd went wild, cheering for minutes after he and Charlie had left the ring.

He patted Sam on the back as he came back through the curtain. Sam grinned, wishing him good luck as he went to towel off. When Gabriel came back from his performance, Dean straightened up. Gabe removed a piece of candy from his clown suit and ate it as he watched Dean and Cas do their final preparations.

“You actually aren't half bad at this, Dean-o. Who'd have thought a lug head like you would be a star,” Gabe told him, shrugging as though it truly was a surprise.

Dean kept his comments to himself and pulled Cas' arms to help him stretch out his back. “What an ass,” Dean mumbled when Gabe had gone back to whatever it was Gabe did when he wasn't making himself a nuisance.

“He has always been that way if Anna is to be believed,” Cas said, watching Gabriel walk away.

“I can't believe that he is your partner's brother.”

Castiel smiled at him. “Life does not always make sense,” Castiel told him, getting up and waiting for their call.

They walked out to the ring together, taking practiced steps that were now second nature to Dean. Dean took the silks in his hand and wrapped them around Castiel, pulling him in close then pushing him away. This time Castiel stayed in the silks and Dean made a show of pretending to pull the silks arm over arm as though he were raising a flag, and up Castiel climbed fluidly with each make-believe pull Dean made.

Dean moved nimbly around the base of the silks as Castiel posed high above the ground. The audience clapped, but Dean's focus was all on Castiel. Dean did a pas de ciseaux, jumping high and changing legs in the air as Castiel brought himself into position, wrapping the silks around his thighs and inverting his body.

Dean ran just beneath the silks raising his arms to Castiel, and Castiel began to fall to him. Benny was manning the new rigging Dean had made to allow the whole apparatus to lower, so Castiel could come to him. Castiel lowered so fluidly that it seemed as though it was by his will and not the strength of another.

Castiel took Dean beneath the shoulders as he reached him, and in an instant, they were rising again far above the floor of the tent. Dean's back was arched as Castiel supported all of his weight. His arms fell gracefully to the sides, and his toes were pointed, as though an angel lifted him above this earth to heaven, spinning slowly.

As they reached the top and were once again secured, Dean began to slip from Castiel's grasp until they held each other by their wrists. Dean kicked his feet dramatically as Cas began to swing him back and forth. Dean brought his legs out wide in a split as he swung.

Then as they built speed, Cas dropped Dean's left arm, leaving him to dangle precariously for an extended moment. The audience went silent as it looked like Dean may just fall, but Dean smoothly bent his knees to pose like a stag in flight. Then he brought his leg up in a split and Castiel snatched his ankle and held him tightly.

However, Dean twisted into an arabesque, leg and arm up over his head as he hung from Castiel's strong grip. Dean continued to pose as they swung, then they each took to one of the silks, mirroring each other’s moves and seemingly flying together through the air.

Finally, Castiel secured himself again and brought Dean back to earth before rising again to do the final maneuver. Dean knelt, staring up at him as he took flight, letting the material run through his fingers and as he reached up for Cas. Cas rose higher and higher, and Dean waited for the finale.

As Cas reached the top, and Benny secured the rigging, Cas got into position and began to free fall. Dean watched in awe as Castiel let himself fall. Dean's eyes were drawn up as Cas came down, and they widened as he watched the apparatus following Cas down.

“Cas!” he screamed as Castiel had no tension to stop himself with. Cas changed position at the last moment, so he wouldn't land head first, and he crashed to the ground beside Dean in heap.

The crowd gasped, not knowing if it was part of the act or not, as Dean crowded over Cas. “Cas, Cas!” Dean begged, afraid to touch him.

It was as Benny dashed out into the ring that several people began to scream. Sam was quick to arrive as well, bringing with him Bobby, Jo, and Ash.

“Is he breathing?” Bobby asked, as he knelt down. Dean steadied himself and leaned over Cas to see if he felt breath coming from his mouth.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean pleaded, feeling just a wisp of breath against his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jody ride out on Tristan to distract from what was going on.

“What happened?” Meg asked, running up and falling down beside Dean.

“The rigging failed,” Dean said, horrified as he looked at the metal ring that had fallen beside Cas. This was Dean's fault. He hadn't double checked it because of Zachariah's meeting.

“Don't blame yourself, Dean,” Bobby and Benny said in unison.

Dean was going to say something else, but he felt a touch to the inside of his wrist, and he looked down to see Castiel's blue eyes staring up at him. “I take back what I said about mortar fire. This is worse,” Cas joked, groaning softly as his words faded.

“Christ, you scared me,” Dean said, leaning in to brush the hair out of Cas' face. “What hurts?” he asked.

“What doesn't? I just fell twenty feet,” Cas said, as Ash and Sam came back with a stretcher.

“Just hold tight, you're gonna be fine, Cas,” Dean told him, feeling none of the certainty that he tried to put into his words.

Men and women were still shouting as they carried Castiel out of the tent. Dean held his hand tightly. He didn't hear the noise of the crowd or the whispers of the performers. He didn't hear Zachariah shouting about ruined shows or refunds. All he could register was Castiel, lying broken on a stretcher as Sam and Ash hurried him out to wait for the ambulance. All he could focus on was Castiel's pained eyes that didn't leave Dean's even as they packed him into the ambulance and refused Dean entrance.

“I'll drive you,” Jo said, holding the keys to Ellen's truck as Dean stood there paralyzed. “Dean,” she said, snapping her fingers in his face.

Dean blinked down at her in a daze.

“I'm driving you to the hospital. Let's go. Sam's getting you some real pants, and we're heading out,” Jo told him, taking his arm to guide him to the truck as Charlie took the other.

“Cas is going to be fine, Dean. He's strong,” Charlie promised him as she got him settled in the passenger seat.

“It's my fault...”

“None of that bull right now,” Jo said sharply, grabbing Dean's chin and forcing him to look at her. “It doesn't matter how it happened. What matters is Cas is hurtin', and he needs you. So, you're going to push aside your self-loathing for a bit, and you're going to promise him that he'll be okay,” Jo told him.

Dean nodded as Charlie shut the door. “Good,” Jo said, letting go of him and starting the engine.

Surprisingly, Jo drove responsibly as they headed for the hospital. She held Dean back from demanding answers from the nurse as the entered the waiting room, and she held his hand as Cas went through surgery.

Dean was practically delirious with worry when a familiar form stepped in front of him in the wee hours of the morning. “Dean?” Miss Moore's voice asked softly.

Dean looked up at her, dressed in a nurse’s hat and dress. She looked professional and sure of herself.

“Jessica?” Dean replied, forgetting formalities in the moment. She smiled at him pleasantly and offered him a glass of water.

“Your partner is out of surgery. They had to set several bones, but he's resting peacefully now,” she explained.

“Is he going to be alright?” Dean asked, forgetting the cup in his hand and nearly spilling it.

“The doctor advises against performing again, even if he does fully recover, but he will recover,” she promised.

“Can I see him?”

“It's against hospital policy, and visiting hours are over, but I can let you see him for a moment,” she told him.

Dean got up unsteadily and followed her out of the waiting room, away from all of the other concerned performers. They'd been pouring in since Dean had gotten there, all worried for one of their own. Dean didn’t allow himself to think of how much they suddenly cared now that Cas was hurt when they hadn’t when he was healthy.

“Sam came and found me. He said something terrible had happened,” Jessica said as she led him through to the room Castiel was resting in. “I'm sorry this happened, Dean. If there is anything I can do...”

“Let me stay with him,” Dean asked. He knew it was selfish. He knew he was probably putting her in a hard position, but this was it. This was the only thing he needed, to be close to Cas.

“I'll see what I can do,” she said softly, opening the door so Dean could enter.

Dean walked in, unable to take his eyes off of Cas' still form lying on the hospital cot. He sat down in the chair beside the bed and he took Cas' hand in his own. His leg was in a cast and elevated by a pulley.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, but Castiel didn't respond. Dean bit his lip, looking to the open door before leaning over Cas' prone form, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before sitting back down again. He squeezed Cas' hand slightly, not knowing what to do.

Jessica came back in after a little while, carrying a blanket that she carefully draped over Cas and tucked in. “They won't bother you tonight, but I can't say what will happen in the morning,” Jessica told him, draping a second blanket over Dean's shoulders. “Would you give this to Sam for me?” she asked him, removing an envelope from the pocket of her apron.

Dean blinked at her for a moment, seeing nothing but kindness in her eyes. He remembered the letter Sam sent her, telling her how he cared for Castiel. Still, there was no judgment in her eyes as she made sure they were both as comfortable as possible. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

“You love him,” Dean said, taking the letter from her outstretched hand.

“Sam is an easy man to love,” she said, blushing at how blunt Dean was being.

“He is, but standing by him isn't as easy,” Dean told her.

“No. I don't have the luxury of being a man who can make up his own mind for himself. Unfortunately, my family thinks they know what is best for a girl such as myself,” she told him.

“But you know different,” Dean said, laughing at how much like Sam she sounded. “Sam knew different too when we were younger. Did he tell you he packed away all our possessions and decided we would run away?”

“He did.”

“Are you ready to pack away all those years of easy living and opportunities to run away with him?”

“I wouldn't have asked your help if I wasn't,” she said, standing a little straighter.

Dean smiled sadly at her. “I'll deliver this,” he promised.

Jessica nodded and turned to leave. As she made it to the door, Dean called her name softly. “You should know; he'd do the same for you. If there's any doubt in your mind.”

She smiled at him, shutting the door behind her as she left. Dean turned back to Cas, who still slept peacefully. Dean watched the morphine drip for a long time, waiting for the next droplet of oblivion to fall.

“I don't know what I'd do without you, Cas,” Dean said after hours of sitting there quietly. “I don't know how to go back to the way things were. You've thrown a wrench in it, and now I just don't know what to do.”

Cas didn't reply, but Dean wasn't really expecting one. He sat there looking at Castiel's bruised and broken body, wishing there were answers to be had.

When dawn was on the horizon, Dean looked out the curtained window and prayed for the first time in years. Prayed to anyone that would listen, divine or not.

Dean was half asleep when Zachariah marched in, followed closely by two men in suits.

“Winchester, these detectives want to speak to you,” Zachariah announced. Dean startled awake, looking over at Cas who was still asleep.

“What do you need to talk to me for?” Dean asked, scratching the back of his neck as he sat up in the chair.

“Your boss called us to look into this, Mr. Winchester. He noted that you are in charge of rigging the apparatuses,” the first detective told him.

“I used to be, but I mostly work with Cas now. I'll climb up if I get a chance to,” Dean told the men.

“And you didn't happen to get a chance yesterday?” the other man asked.

“No, we had a meeting. I was with Cas most of the morning. We had things to discuss,” Dean said.

“And did you have a chance to check last show?”

Dean nodded.

“The show before that?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Would you say you checked every show prior to last night?” the first detective asked.

“You think I did this? On purpose?” Dean asked them, anger quickly taking the place of confusion.

“You said you've checked every other time even if it wasn't your responsibility, but last night you didn't, and this happens,” the second detective said.

“Why would I hurt Cas? Why the hell would I try to hurt my partner?” Dean asked, standing up and balling his hands into fists.

“You tell us, Mr. Winchester. Word is that you weren't keen to become a performer. You were pushed into it. I also hear that you and Zachariah have had your problems before. Maybe you saw this as an opportunity to get back at him. Injure your partner, if he happens to die all the better. Zachariah loses money, the circus loses credibility. You move on. Seen it a hundred times...”

“Well you don't know anything about me,” Dean told the man, straightening up to tower over him. “I'd give my life for anyone in this circus. I've given ten years of my life keeping them safe. I don't give a damn about Zachariah or his bottom line, but I'd sooner kill myself than hurt Cas,” Dean spat.

“Don't leave town, Mr. Winchester, and you better hope Mr. Castiel wakes up, or you might be facing murder charges,” they told him.

Zachariah didn't go though. He stood there looking furious as ever. “Don't get any bright ideas, Dean. You're a part of the show now. I expect you to be in costume and performing tonight. I have a lot riding on you,” Zachariah told him.

“I'm not leaving Cas.”

“I think you misunderstand me, Dean. Either you go to work tonight, or you will be arrested for attempted murder and destruction of property,” Zachariah said with a smile.

“You know I had nothing to do with this.”

“Of course not, Dean, but those detectives don't know that, and they'll believe anything I tell them. You see, that's the benefit of having money. They believe me, whereas a man like you, it's not a stretch that you would kill. It doesn’t hurt that you were caught stealing before, and officers don’t forget things like that,” Zachariah said. “Now, I suggest you remember yourself and get back to the fairgrounds by sundown.”

Dean almost put his hand through the wall as Zach left. He collapsed into the chair at Cas' beside and took Cas' limp hand. “I don't want to leave you,” he whispered.

“I will be fine.”

Dean looked up to find Castiel watching him tiredly.

“You're awake,” Dean said, getting up to get close to Cas.

“That happens when people start shouting in your general vicinity,” Cas retorted. Dean chuckled softly, pleased that Castiel was alert. “Go back. I will be here when you are done,” Cas told him.

“I don't care what Zachariah says...”

“I do. Go, Dean. I will be safe here,” Cas promised.

Dean looked away for a moment, forcing himself not to argue with Cas. There was no point hashing it out with him when he couldn't even sit up. “How are you feeling? Can I get you water?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled, but he didn't call Dean out for changing the subject. “I could do with some water,” he agreed.

Dean got up and poured some from the pitcher, before going to Cas' side and holding the cup to Cas' lips. Cas drank slowly, seemingly exhausting himself with the tiny sips he was taking.

“They didn't give us these sorts of drugs in the war,” Cas commented as he laid back against his pillow again. Dean cringed at the reminder that Cas had gone through hell to get there, and now he was lying in a hospital bed. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself. You had nothing to do with this,” Cas said, shaking his head in exasperation.

“If I had—”

“It's over, Dean. I'll heal. I'll keep going as I always do.”

“Miss Moore said you can never perform again,” Dean told him.

“Then I won't perform.”

“That's it? You belong up there! I've never seen anyone fly like you. You told me I had to fight for what I want, but you're just going to give up. One fall, and that's it?” Dean asked, feeling is anger and frustration return.

“It doesn't always work that way,” Cas said, voice weary. “My leg was broken in three places. I'll never be strong enough to do it again. I may never be strong enough to walk again.”

“And you're just accepting that because some quack of a doctor said so?”

“You can't fight everything, Dean. You think I want this? You think I don't wish I was walking out of here with you? Sometimes you have to accept things and learn to live with them,” Cas shouted back.

“Sir, you're upsetting the patient. I must ask you to leave,” a nurse said from the doorway. She looked hesitant to get too close to Dean.

Dean looked from her to Castiel then back. “I'm going,” he told her. “Don't think this is over,” he said to Cas before storming out.

Benny drove Dean back to the hospital after the show that night. Dean was worn out; he'd barely slept the night before, then he'd had to perform a solo act after fighting with Cas. His whole body ached, but he refused to spend the night anywhere but at Cas' side. They might not see eye to eye at the moment, but Dean wasn't going to leave him alone in the hospital.

Benny walked into the wing Castiel was in with him, and Jessica came to meet them as soon as she saw their imposing figures.

“Mr. Winchester, they aren't happy with you here. I used a favor to let you stay last night, and you got yourself thrown out the next day for upsetting the patient,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and blocking his path.

“The patient's name is Castiel, and I'm going to see him.”

“Not with that attitude you aren't. Look Dean, I know you're upset, but the police were already through here once today. If the nurses hear arguing, they'll call them back,” Jessica told him.

“Don't you worry, darling. I'll make sure Dean is on his best behavior,” Benny told her, laying on the Cajun accent thick.

“Mr. LaFitte, your wife once told me to let her know if you ever gave me any hassle. Don't make me have to take her up on that,” Jessica said with false sweetness.

“Sam's girl is a handful isn't she?” Benny asked as they finally got into Cas' room.

“She certainly is,” Dean agreed, going to Cas' bedside and kissing his cheek, knowing that Benny would block them from view. He always had Dean's back.

“Didn't realize you two were admittin' your feelings,” Benny said when Dean pulled back and fussed with the blankets. Dean froze. How had he forgotten that only Jo, Charlie, and Sam knew? “Don't get me wrong, Jo called it from the start. Just didn't realize you'd realized it,” Benny said, smiling.

“Did they keep you out of the betting pool for this too?” Dean asked, remembering that Gabe had bet on him becoming a performer.

“I don't gamble on a man's heart. Somethings are still sacred,” Benny told him, going over to the window to fix the bouquets of flowers there.

“Clearly, peace and quiet are not some of those things,” Cas groaned, opening his eyes. “How did you do?” he asked Dean, lifting his arm to grab Dean's fingers.

“He was fantastic. Re-rigged the whole apparatus himself, and put on a show stopping performance,” Benny answered for Dean.

Cas smiled, and Dean couldn't fight his blush. “Good. You deserve it,” Cas said quietly, looking straight into Dean's eyes.

Dean took a seat and held Cas' hand as he talked about the show and how enthusiastic the audience had been. “I spoke to the papers. Told them you were real sorry not to be there tonight. They seemed sad that they didn't get to see you really perform,” Dean explained.

Cas laughed softly. “I am sure they are just as happy about my fall. Watching the privileged fall has been the stuff of sensation since the dawn of civilization,” Cas said.

Dean frowned, but Benny laughed at Cas' dismal joke. “We'll be fine, Benny. You can go back to your wife,” Dean said, wanting some time alone with Cas.

“Don't you dare make Miss Jessica make good on her threat. Pamela will tie me up and leave me there for a week,” Benny told him darkly.

“Yeah, yeah. She already knows,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“She doesn't keep tabs on me, Chief. She respects my privacy,” Benny said, walking out.

“You came back,” Cas said once they were alone again.

“You expected something else?”

Cas shook his head, and took Dean's hand in his. “When I broke my wrist when I fell with Anna, she used her skirt to bandage it and make a sling. I walked around with a woman's skirt holding my arm in place for over a month,” Cas said.

Dean laughed; he knew Cas was trying to make amends. Dean told him about Sam breaking his wrist growing up as well, and they talked late into the night about everything except what came next. As the hour grew late, Dean fussed with Cas' blanket before bedding down in the chair.

He fell asleep with Castiel's hand still in his own.

For over a week, Dean spent his mornings with Castiel. He watched Cas eat, and they talked about Dean's act. Cas gave him pointers when something wasn't working, and Dean did his best to keep things light.

In the afternoon, Dean went back to the fairgrounds to practice and get ready for the show in the evening. As soon as the show was finished, Dean went right back to the hospital.

None of the nurses gave him any trouble. He'd charmed just about all of them by the end of the first week, Miss Moore not included.

Tuesday morning the following week had Dean going through his dancer's warm up in the middle of the hospital room. Cas counted the beats out as Dean moved from position to position.

“Raise your leg higher. I won't be there to hold it anymore,” Cas said as Dean rose up onto his toes and performed an arabesque.

“If I raise it any higher, my pants will split,” Dean told him.

“I told you to take them off before you started.”

“And I told you that I don't want to be arrested for public indecency.”

“Public indecency? You're in a hospital. No one here is wearing pants,” Cas argued.

Cas' day nurse stood in the doorway giggling as they fought over Dean's pants. Dean turned to her before he could say anything unfit for mixed company.

“Excuse me, but Mr. Zachariah is here to see Mr. Castiel,” she said, smiling shyly at Dean. Dean frowned though at the mention of Zachariah.

“What does he want?”

“To speak with Mr. Castiel alone,” she clarified.

“Let him in. Dean, you should be going anyway. You clearly need practice,” Cas said before Dean could respond.

Dean narrowed his eyes, but he grabbed his jacket and boots and walked out, bumping shoulders with Zachariah as he left.

Michael was waiting for Dean when he got back to the camp. He waved Dean into his trailer as he walked toward his own.

“Take a seat, Dean.”

“I'd rather you just get on with it,” Dean said, crossing his arms as he faced Michael.

“Your new partner is arriving tonight. They'll watch you perform and then you will immediately begin to work on a partner program. We leave again tomorrow, and you will be on that train if you know what's good for you,” Michael told him.

“I don't do well with threats, Michael.”

“Don't start getting rebellious now, Dean. Not after what Sam did to Miss Moore, not after what you may have done to Castiel. Now is not the time to start rocking the boat,” Michael warned him.

“And what about Cas?”

“Zachariah is taking care of him.”

“Sorry, but that comes off a little foreboding instead of reassuring,” Dean complained, turning and walking out the door. He let it slam behind him as he headed for his trailer. He hoped Sam was there. Sam would know what to do.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Abaddon, that name didn’t sound foreboding or anything. Dean had met his share of interesting characters in his time with the circus, but Josie—stage name Abaddon—was one of the more terrifying.

Dean didn’t get a chance to meet her before he performed, but he could feel eyes watching in the entire time he glided from one position to the next. It wasn’t the same as when the crowds watched him; this made the hair on the back of his neck rise. This broke his focus on himself and the silks. Dean pushed through the performance, but it was a hard fought victory.

Every show without Cas out there with him was a struggle. Every stretch, every arabesque, every split, and every bow was harder without Cas there to take the world away. It wasn’t a performance when Cas was out there with him—it was a dance, and they were the only ones in the room.

Dean remembered their first train ride as he free fell, as Cas had been so fond of doing before the accident. Dean didn’t even think about stopping, just of dancing cheek to cheek with Cas.

He did stop himself though. It was natural now, muscle memory that worked far better than focusing and trying to know the exact moment to pull the stops. Castiel’s repeated orders of again, again, again made sense now. There wasn’t a part of his act that Castiel wasn’t a part of.

As Dean stepped out of the silks and took his bow, he didn’t even realize that the applause were particularly raucous because he’d successfully done the element that not a week earlier had ended in tragedy. He barely noticed the woman near the front, who fainted at the thought of seeing Dean killed.

“You’re a risk taker,” a tall woman with fiery red hair said from behind the curtain as Dean walked backstage again. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her hip out like she wasn’t impressed by him at all. She didn’t need to be. He certainly didn’t care.

“If you say so,” he replied, going over to the cup of water he’d left there before he went out to perform.

“You didn’t even have a routine. You just went out there and did what came to mind,” she continued.

“Well, when you lose your partner one night and get forced to perform the next night, you work with what you’ve got,” Dean told her, coming to stand in front of her. He crossed his arms as well. Her eyes on his body still made the hair on the back of his neck raise.

The face she made was very close to a sneer, but Dean thought she might be too classy for that. “So, Zachariah hired you to be my partner?” Dean asked her, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel.

“Josie,” she said holding out her hand. He noted her perfectly manicured nails. They looked like they were primed to take an eye out if she deemed it worth the mess.

“Dean,” he said, taking her hand in a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I have somewhere to be, so we can pick this up tomorrow on the train,” Dean told her.

“We have work to do,” she told him, frowning as she took her hand back.

“Not tonight we don’t. I worked all day. I don’t do nights,” he said, standing in line to parade out one last time. He couldn’t wait to put distance between himself and this town again.

“Michael said you always practice nights,” she pressed.

“Not anymore, I don’t. Good night, Ma’am,” he said, walking out with the others.

Dean jogged to his trailer after the show. He wasn’t convinced that Josie wouldn’t go to Michael himself and tattle on him for leaving for the night. So, he hurried along. Sam had headed back to Charlie’s trailer with Jo and Ash.

Dean was just coming up to Cas’ trailer when a figure stepped out in front of his own trailer not ten feet further down. Dean squinted in the darkness.

John stepped into the light, and Dean came up short. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demanded, standing ten feet from his father but closer than he had in ten years.

“A man can’t come to see his sons?” John asked, stepping closer.

Dean stood his ground, knowing that backing up would only show how shit scared he was.

“It’s been ten years, Pop. If you wanted to catch up, maybe you should’ve visited sooner,” Dean said, considering hiding out in Cas’ trailer until John left. He couldn’t get to his own with John standing there.

“You really reminded me of your mother tonight,” John said, putting his hands deep in his pockets.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t thank you, but you never made me taking after Ma sound like a good thing in the past,” Dean told him, even though he took it as the greatest compliment.

“I wasn’t a very good father after I lost her,” John admitted.

“No, you weren’t. I was barely five years old and somehow I was playing mom and pop to Sammy, and you ridiculed me for it as I got older,” Dean said.

“You grew a spine since you left.”

“Yeah, someone taught me that I’m worth standing up for. That someone should’ve been you. So, is there a reason you’re here, or were you just lookin’ for a trip down memory lane?” Dean asked, standing up as tall as he could. John still had an inch or two on him.

“I came to bring you this,” John said, pulling a box out of the inside of his coat. Dean recognized it immediately as the music box that John had destroyed when Dean was still a child. He stared at it in confusion as John approached him slowly.

“It was broken,” Dean said.

“The top just came off and cracked. Nothing a little glue and a new hinge couldn’t fix,” John explained, holding it out for Dean’s inspection. Dean didn’t take it though. He stared at it like it might just bite him. He remembered the song playing, his father angrily storming into the room and throwing it at the wall. He remembered the poor ballerina rolling away as the music played on. “I want you to have it, Dean.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what your mother would have wanted. Because you deserve to have it,” John told him. “I’m not here to ruin what you’ve done here, Dean. You’ve made something of yourself. I just wanted you to have this.”

Dean took the offered box, but he didn’t open it. He wasn’t sure he could listen to the song again. Maybe he would give it to Cas. Cas knew the song. He probably even had something worth putting in the ornate box.

“Thanks Pop,” Dean told him, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m proud of you, Dean. I know I didn’t say that enough when you were growing up, but I am. You raised Sam right even if I couldn’t,” John said, stepping back.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Don’t stop looking out for him. He’s got a nose for trouble on him.”

Dean laughed. If only John knew. Then again, maybe he did. Maybe Bobby had kept in touch through the years. Dean never asked if Bobby spoke to John about Sam and him, never wanted to know before.

“Take care of yourself, Pop.”

“I always do. You take care of yourself too, Dean. Maybe stop by for a beer sometime when you’re in town,” John suggested.

“Maybe. You see Sam?”

“Sam doesn’t want to see me.”

John wasn’t wrong. Sam had vowed years ago that if he ever saw John again he’d kill him. Dean didn’t know if that fiery hate had settled with age, but he knew Sam still held a lot of anger inside him. He had every right to it.

“I left something for him with Bobby.”

Dean nodded, shuffling his feet as he waited for what came next. Dean was surprised when John offered his hand. Dean looked at it for a moment before taking it. John’s shake was firm, but not bruising. It was the shake of an equal, and it was the first Dean had ever received from him.

“Good luck, son.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

John turned and disappeared into the shadows of the trailers again, as though he’d never been there at all. Dean stared at the box for a good long time before shaking his head and going inside his own trailer. He changed clothes and made sure he washed away some of the smell since he hadn’t had a real bath in days.

He packed up his bag and took Bobby’s truck to the hospital. Cas was awake when he entered the dark room. He was sitting up and writing something as Dean put his overnight bag down and pulled up a chair.

“You’ll never believe who I saw tonight,” Dean said, ignoring whatever it was that Cas was writing.

“I wasn’t expecting you. Zachariah said you would be training the newest acrobat,” Cas said, not looking up.

“Told her that I don’t practice nights anymore. My father came to the show. Can you believe it? John Winchester came to the circus. He loathes the circus,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “He said I looked like my Ma, and he was proud of me. Never thought I’d hear those words out of the man’s mouth. 'Dean, I’m proud of you.' You don’t know what I would have done to hear that growin’ up. I probably would’ve killed a man with my bare hands. And you know what the kicker is? I don’t really care anymore. What’s John Winchester’s pride worth? Not damn much,” Dean said, staring up at the ceiling, still feeling light from what had happened.

“Dean, I need to speak with you,” Cas told him, but Dean was off in his own thoughts. He was thinking about closing that chapter of his life and not driving past the house anymore, wondering if John would want him back if he came up the path.

“God, what a crazy night. Josie seems like a real piece of work…”

“Dean, please listen to me,” Cas asked, raising his voice.

“What’s that, Cas?” Dean asked, shifting so he could look Cas' way. Cas didn't look happy, which made Dean frown.

“I'm not going with you to the next stop on the road,” Cas said, putting his pen down and looking Dean straight in the eye. He looked resolved, but Dean didn't understand why.

“But you'll meet us at the next once the hospital clears you, right?” That had been the plan. Cas would rest and recuperate then meet them in another city.

“No, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean just stared at him.

“What do you mean? The doctor said they'd let would out within the week, so long as you kept improving.”

Castiel sighed, looking down at his hands then back up at Dean. “There is no room in the troupe for people who can't pull their weight,” Cas told him.

“You pull your weight,” Dean argued.

“ _Dean_.”

“No, there's a mistake. You're coming with us.”

“Dean, it doesn't work that way. I can't work. Right now, I can't even stand. There's no way I can travel with you—”

“So I'll carry you. You can't just stay here. This is Zachariah's doing, isn't it?”

“He isn't wrong, Dean. I'm just an extra mouth to feed with nothing to contribute. I won't be well enough to travel this season either way. I—”

“You aren’t a burden. I’ll feed you with my pay. I need you. I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you, Cas,” Dean said, outraged just at the thought of leaving Cas behind.

“Dean, I'm flattered, but it isn't possible. I'll be on a boat back to Europe as soon as I'm healed enough to travel,” Cas said, looking away from Dean.

“Don't do that. You don't get to hide like that. You come here and turn my life upside down, make me feel things I've never felt before, and now you're just leaving? Was this just a stop on the grand tour? Was I just a notch—”

“You were everything! This is not easy for me. I'm not begging to be on the next boat home, but I cannot stay here without work. And I cannot risk people sticking their noses into my background when the mere hint of Soviet blood has McCarthy sympathizers thirsting for blood. I'd never leave you if I didn't have to,” Castiel told him sadly.

“Then ask me to go with you!” Dean begged.

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“It would be selfish. Your whole life is here, Dean. Your family. You have a promising career and people that love you. With me, you'd be isolated in a strange country. I can't ask that of you,” Castiel said, looking up at Dean with glassy eyes.

“I...”

“Go back, Dean. Go back and do what you've always dreamed of doing. Take something for yourself for once,” Cas said.

Dean just stared at him. “What about you?”

“I will do as I've always done. Survive.”

“This is bull. I'm not goin' back without you. They'll have to drag me out of here. If Zachariah wants this act so bad, he'll have to let you stay with me.” Dean tried to find any answer, but he knew it wouldn't work. Michael had been right— Zachariah had all the things he needed to hold over Dean's head. “Christ, Cas. How'd this end up so screwed up?”

Cas chuckled softly, though there was little humor to it. He looked down at his lap again and smiled. “The plight of Icarus, I'm afraid. We dared fly too close to the sun, too close to our dreams. Doomed to fall.”

“You sound like an ass,” Dean retorted.

“Can we not part enemies, Dean?” Castiel asked him, sounding like the weight of the world pressed down on his able shoulders.

“You'll never be my enemy, Cas,” Dean said, getting up and walking to the door. He could read the sadness of Cas' face as he walked out of the room. He walked down the hall to find Jessica standing near the nurses' desk. “Miss Moore? I have a favor to ask,” Dean said, shoulders hunching and chin low.

“What's the matter, Dean?” she asked, sounding concerned. She was a nurturer at heart. Sam deserved a girl like that.

“See, it's my last night in town, and my last night seein' Cas. I was just wonderin' if there was any way you could see that we weren't disturbed?” Dean asked her.

Jessica's cheeks went red as she opened her mouth at his words. “You wouldn't dare! Not in a hospital. Mr. Novak is not well enough for that sort of—”

“What?” Dean's eyebrows shot up at where her mind had gone. “No, no. I just want some time alone with him. Not...to do...not that,” Dean said, also turning red at her insinuation.

Having sex up at Lovers Lane had been wild enough. Dean wasn't sure he had it in him to do it in a hospital where a staff of nurses and doctors could walk in at any moment. Though this being their last night and all, he was more than a little tempted.

“Oh. Sorry, that was very improper of me to...” she started to giggle, unable to finish her apology. “I...I'm sure I can see that you aren't...disturbed,” she said between bouts of laughter.

Dean shook his head, but he thanked her. He walked back to the room to find Cas had gotten himself out of bed and was seated in a chair, gazing out the window.

“I'd like to be left alone,” Cas said without turning toward the door.

“I already handled that,” Dean said, walking in slowly.

Cas whipped around, looking surprised to find Dean there. “Didn't think I'd leave you just like that did you?” Dean asked, sinking to the floor in front of Cas and resting his head in Cas' lap.

Cas didn't say anything. Instead, he ran his fingers through Dean's hair soothingly. Dean didn't know how long they stayed like that, just touching each other, but as it got late, Dean helped Cas back onto the bed and into the crazy contraption that held his leg in place. Then he climbed in after him and rested his head on Cas' heart, weaving their fingers together and holding onto him.

Dean was silent as Bobby drove him back to the camp the following morning. Cas was doped up when he left. His leg had started hurting during the night, and they'd sedated him. Dean had continued to cling to him even as he slumbered deeply, and when Bobby insisted they couldn't wait any longer, Dean had kissed Cas' forehead and left him.

He hadn't told Bobby that Cas wasn't coming back. He didn't plan on telling anyone. Pamela would know though, she always did. Maybe she didn't keep tabs on Benny, but when things were bad, she knew.

Dean just sat there, stewing in his own anger. He had anger for everything, and it was simmering just beneath the surface.

When Bobby pulled up to the camp, Dean hopped out of the car, not caring that he stepped right into a massive mud puddle. He sloshed through it as though it didn't matter at all.

Dean stalked through the camp, ignoring everyone's calls and chatter as they packed up their belongings, ready to hit the road. He walked straight through to where he knew Zachariah would be perched with Michael at his side, overseeing his kingdom.

Dean marched right up to them without a word.

“I see you made the wise choice and showed up. Though we will have to talk about you refusing to prac—”

Dean's fist connected with Zachariah's face with a satisfying crack as his nose broke. Dean didn't stop there, turning and punching Michael low in the belly as he tried to defend Zachariah.

Both men gasped as Dean straightened up. “I could have you arrested for this,” Zachariah insisted, but Dean just laughed at him.

“You can't. If you have me arrested, then I can't perform for you, and nothing is more important to you than the bottom line, not even your ugly mug,” Dean said, shoulders back and standing proud. “I may be your puppet, Zachariah. We all may be, but don't forget the kind of people you're dealing with. Men like you don't scare us,” Dean told him, turning to go oversee loading.

“That's your problem, Dean. You never know when to quit. See if this little tantrum seems so righteous when I stop feeding you for a week,” Zachariah called after him.

Dean just smiled and walked away. However, his victory was short-lived when he found Josie sitting outside Castiel's trailer beneath a parasol. “Oh good, you're back. I took the liberty of packing up your little friend's belongings now that this trailer belongs to me. I need you to remove them for me,” she told him.

Dean was tempted to hit her too, but he knew she'd hit back and probably nothing so benign as a punch to the ribs. Dean grit his teeth as he sifted through Castiel's belongings, bringing them over to join his own. Sam and Benny came over to help him, and Meg lured Josie away with talk of the good old days. Dean didn't know what those were, but Josie seemed to have crossed paths with Meg before.

When the train was packed, and the whistle blew, Dean was seated alone in the car they'd danced in months early. It was just him, a bottle of scotch, and Billie Holiday singing “I'll Be Seein' You” on the gramophone.

Dean thought of dancing with Cas that first trip, how different everything had been. He remembered how Cas' arm felt around him as Cas led them in a swift waltz, and how they'd kept dancing even after the music stopped.

Dean poured himself another glass of scotch and looked around the car. He could almost see Cas swinging Jo around as she laughed or Charlie curled up in the corner because she'd had too much.

“Dammit all,” Dean said as he tried to drown his sorrows, but each one of Billie's songs hit another ache in his heart, and eventually he fell asleep on the table top as the end of the record popped away, forgotten.

“This is what you call a performance?” Josie asked, staring at Dean with contempt as he tried to show her how he wanted to open their act.

“It would be if you didn't keep arguing with me,” Dean said sharply. They'd been working together for eight hours, and Dean came closer to insanity with every passing moment. Every minute they argued, he was reminded of his time with Cas, and it made his heart ache that much more.

Josie was not a silks expert. Those were evidently extremely hard to come by. She was a trapeze master, and she dabbled with the lyra. So now, Dean was attempting to teach her silks while she continued to tell him how poorly he did them.

Meanwhile, Michael was breathing down Dean's neck to have a doubles act to debut in the coming weeks. Dean wasn’t entirely sure they didn’t allow her to do trapeze and leave him as a solo performer.

Dean had spent most of his night drinking, and Sam spent most of his morning pouring a bucket of water over Dean's head to wake him and get him moving. Josie wasn't shrill, but her voice was like a nail in his skull when he was this hungover.

“Look, if you want to choreograph the act, be my guest, but I'm the one that knows what I'm doing,” Dean told her, standing beneath the silks in just his tights again.

Josie smiled like the cat that caught the canary as she walked up to Dean. “The act needs to be more sensuous. I'm not a brute of a man like Castiel was. We'll need to touch, to tantalize the audience,” she said, whispering in his ear as she walked around him.

“That's not why people come to our show...”

“Then we'll make it why they come,” she told him, pressing her finger to his chest.

“That's not why I'm doing this,” Dean replied, snatching her finger and holding it tightly.

“Why are you here, Dean? Let me into that head of yours. What is it that you want?” she asked, leaning in close.

Dean paused, staring into her cold eyes for a long moment before grounding himself. “I want to be left alone to do my act, solo,” he said, stepping out of her space. “Let me know what you deem acceptable. Until then, I'll be in my trailer,” he said gruffly, stalking past Josie and out of the tent.

He was close to his trailer when he saw Gabriel stepping away from the door. “What the hell are you doing?” Dean demanded, jogging after him, but Gabriel was off in a hurry.

Dean growled, going back to his trailer and opening the door very cautiously. However, nothing happened. No bucket of water, no horse manure, no loud noise. Dean stepped inside and shut the door, staring at it for a moment. Maybe he'd caught Gabe before he could pull a prank.

However, as Dean sat down on his bed, he noticed something laying on the floor just inside the door. He got up and walked over to it.

“A tarot card?” Dean said in confusion as he picked it up. He recognized it immediately—the Wheel of Fortune. It was the same card he'd seen the night Cas had arrived, right before everything changed.

On the back there was a message in Gabriel's messy scrawl. Dean squinted at it for a good minute trying to decipher the poorly written characters, like their shape wasn't natural to him.

“Change is...what you make of it,” Dean finally read, frowning at the words. However, his mind filled in the blanks. Castiel. It always came back to him. Dean looked out the window of his trailer to the one beside his that used to belong to Cas. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in the last few months, but now it was all over.

Dean got up to pour himself a drink, but as he lifted the bottle he looked at it and dropped it on the table. He wasn't his father. He wasn't going to drink his problems and his life away because he lost something he loved.

Dean stalked out of the trailer and straight for Bobby. “I need a favor,” he said, closing the door of Bobby's trailer behind him.

“What's it you need?”

“Your truck.”

“Take it, you always do,” Bobby said, looking at him like he was dense.

“No, I mean you won't be getting it back,” Dean told him, and that had Bobby sitting up straighter in his chair.

“What was that?”

“I'm going back for Cas.”

“He'll meet us in a few cities, but you got a show in a few hours, and Zachariah won't take kind to you missing it,” Bobby warned him.

“I don't care about Zach. Cas isn't coming back, and Zachariah saw to it. I'm going back for him,” Dean said urgently.

“Dean, you've wanted this for years. You're just going to throw it away?”

“I'm not throwing it away Bobby. I'll do this again, but it won't be for Zachariah. It won't be for anyone like him,” Dean said.

“Take the truck then, boy. She's on her last legs anyway, but she'll get you where you need to go,” Bobby told him, rising from his seat and enveloping Dean in a tight hug. Dean hugged him back, clinging to the man who was more a father than his real father ever was. “Take care, Dean. I'm proud of you. I know you didn't hear it enough, but I'm proud of you, son,” Bobby said, patting he firmly on the back.

Dean held back tears as he pulled away. “I'll send word whenever we settle down,” Dean promised, taking Bobby's keys and going to find Sam. He headed for the big tent, but he found Sam with Charlie and Jo outside Pam and Benny's tent. “Sammy, you got a minute?” Dean asked.

Sam frowned, getting up from the small stool he was sitting on. He walked over to Dean, giving him a concerned look. “Something wrong? Is it Cas? Did—”

“I'm running away,” Dean said, laughing softly at the absurdity of running away at nearly thirty years old.

“What? Where?” Sam asked, shaking his heard.

“You were right,” Dean told him.

“I was? About what?” Sam asked, clearly trying to understand what Dean was thinking.

“You said it was different when you're in love. You'd do things you never thought you would before,” Dean told him. Those words had never strayed too far from Dean’s mind in the past months. “I'm going back for Cas before he leaves the country, before I never get to see him again.”

“He's leaving?”

“Zachariah arranged it. I don't know how, but I know he's behind it. I can't lose him, Sam. I take back all of those things I said about the risks you took for Jessica. You were right,” Dean explained.

“Then I'm going with you, Dean,” Sam said, straightening up.

“You can't, Sam. You have your act. You can't do that to Charlie.”

“He most certainly can if he's goin' to win Jessica over,” Charlie called from ten feet away. “Don't look at me like that, Dean. You two are as subtle as a pair of elephants in a nursery,” she said when they both looked at her.

Dean looked at her sheepishly, but Sam just grinned. “See, I'm going. Jessica's at the hospital with him. We've been planning to leave for months, and this could be our only chance,” Sam said.

“We only take what we absolutely need,” Dean told him, turning to the small crowd that had gathered. “I need you all to keep this under your hats...”

“No ones rattin' you out, Dean,” Benny told him, stepping out from the entrance of the tent where he'd been standing. Pam was right behind him, and she walked right up to Dean and hugged him.

“You'll get him, just stay strong,” she whispered in his ear before turning to Sam and hugging him as well. She whispered to him and pinched his ass before pulling back.

Charlie and Jo came over next, hugging them both in turn. Jo slipped one of her knives into Dean's hand. “So you have something to remember me by. Take care of yourself and that man of yours,” she told him, having a hard time letting go.

“I could never forget you, Jo,” Dean told her, kissing her temple.

They said their goodbyes and headed for their own trailer to collect their limited belongings. Dean threw everything into the bag they'd come with years ago. The only additions were his books, Castiel's journals, and his mother's music box. He pocketed the knife Jo gave him, and took one last look at his home before pulling the bag up, but Sam stopped him.

“I'll carry it this time,” he said, taking the huge bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Dean gave him a small smile and nodded.

When they stepped outside, Meg strode up, dragging Gabriel by his collar like she would a misbehaving dog.

“Word is that you were looking for a weasel. I happened to catch one attempting to steal my sweets,” she said, shoving Gabe in Dean's direction.

“How did you—”

Meg gave him a look that brooked no questions and crossed her arms. Dean grabbed Gabe by the shirt and pulled his back to his feet.

“Why me? Why have you been toying with me? You knew Cas was coming here before any of us, and you left that card for me in the rain. You have Zachariah's ear and knew about Sam and Jess. You have access to the rigging. Everything comes back to you, Gabe. Why did you pick me? Why now?” Dean demanded, slamming Gabe's back against the side of his trailer.

Others had come out to see what the commotion was about, standing around them with open mouths as Dean laid out all of what had been haunting his mind for weeks.

“Why are you so slow, Dean? Why do you always have to fight? Why can't you just accept things as they come to you?”

“That's not an answer!” Dean shouted, slamming Gabe against it again.

“Fine! You want the truth? You were sad and lonely. Pathetic really. I asked my sister to come, thinking you would like her, but of course, she had to go off and get hitched. So, she sent Castiel instead, thinking I needed a confidant I could trust. It was a wrinkle, but how was I to know you'd fall for him just the same,” Gabe told him.

“Why Sam? Why ruin Sam's life too?”

“Ruin? Sam's life has never been better since ol' Zach found out about him and Miss Jessica. Change, Dean, isn't easy to orchestrate. It's a tangled web, and you have to hit everything just right to get the outcome you want. Sure, maybe some of those steps are unfortunate on their own, but in the whole scheme...” Gabriel shrugged, “...they're for a better good, and they iron themselves out in the end.”

“Cas' injury. That'll just work itself out? He could've been killed!”

“Castiel was going to be fine. The man knows how to fall, and he's practically indestructible. I lived through it too, Dean. I ran from it like any sane person would, but not him. He was right in the thick of it. If that can't kill the man, what could I do to him?” Gabriel asked, putting on an innocent face.

“You're sick. What do you get out of this? What's worth all the pain you've caused?”

Gabriel smiled at that, a wide grin that unsettled Dean.

“I get to watch Zachariah's great empire go up in flames, Dean-o. He was going to bring about a new glorious age of the circus. What an ass. I get to watch that pig headed dimwit rub his greedy hands together at the thought of the money he'll make on a star like Castiel or my sister. I get to watch him pour money into bribing journalist to cover the story. I get to watch him put his money on the line for this gamble to _save_ the circus. And now, I get to watch it crumble out from beneath him. I may be a sick, Dean, but sometimes I use my god given talent for manipulation for good, and Zachariah's downfall, is for the good of all,” Gabriel said, reaching into his pocket and removing a candy.

Dean let Gabriel go, staring at him in disgust. “And what about all of the people depending on Zachariah's money to finance this?”

Gabriel smiled again. “We go back to the old ways before Zachariah ran the show, before we answered to anyone but each other. The golden age of the circus, Dean? That was when it was pure. We were the outcasts and the freaks, but people still gave us their money to be amazed for a few hours. We controlled our own destinies.”

There was chatter among the group, but Dean just stood there looking at Gabriel for a long moment. “What do you say, Dean? You could be a part of a family, one without Zachariah. You could have your very own act. Dean Winchester the man who could fly,” Gabe suggested, waggling his eyebrows at Dean.

Dean looked around at practically the entire troupe as they watched Dean interrogate Gabriel. He looked at the surprise on some of their faces, and the pity on others. “Take care of them, Gabe, and I mean it. I'll know if you screw this up,” Dean told him.

“Yeah yeah, go get Cas,” Gabe said, popping the piece of candy into his mouth, seemingly unbothered by Dean leaving.

She stepped into his space. “I want you to take care of him, Dean. Castiel, he's something special, and I want you to look after him like you've been looking out for us,” she whispered into his ear. “I'll make sure you have a distraction. Get out of here,” she said, stepping back and right into Gabriel's arms.

Dean didn't question their strange relationship. He gave her a nod and told Sam to get going.

“You have a plan?” Sam asked once they were on the open road.

“Not even a hint of one,” Dean told him, looking away from the road for a second to grin at Sam. Sam smiled back.

 

“Excuse me, I'm here to see a patient you have here named Castiel,” Dean told the nurse on duty. He didn't recognize her from his prior visits.

“I'm sorry, we have no patient by that name, sir,” she told him.

“No, he came in with a broken leg. I saw him just a few days ago,” Dean told her.

“I'm sorry, sir, but there is no one by that name on this floor,” she said.

“Mr. Winchester, what are you doing here?” One of the nurses that had taken care of Cas came walking toward them.

“Nurse Marsh, I'm looking for Castiel.”

“But he left the day after you did, Mr. Winchester,” she replied, standing in front of the nurses' desk with him.

“He what?”

“Signed himself out against medical advice. Mr. Zachariah was with him, said he'd look after everything,” she explained.

“No,” Dean said under his breath. “Thank you, sorry for bothering you.”

“I'm sure if you just speak to Mr. Zachariah, he'll put you in touch with him.”

“Thank you.”

Dean walked back to the truck in a daze. They'd pulled Cas out immediately. Zachariah knew Dean would come back, and he made sure Cas wouldn't be there. Dean slammed his fist down on the hood of the car, feeling his anger boiling over.

“Where's Cas?” Sam asked, coming up the sidewalk toward Dean.

“Zachariah got him to sign out as soon as we left. He's probably on a plane back to Europe by now,” Dean told him, feeling hopelessness set in. “What about Jessica?”

“She's in the nurses' dormitory. I need a distraction, so I can get in...”

“I'll handle it,” Dean told him, pulling himself together and walking straight for the small building attached to the hospital for the woman studying to become nurses. He walked right in and was immediately confronted by one of the head nurses.

“You aren't allowed to be in here,” she told him, standing in his way.

“Excuse me ma'am, I'm all turned around here. This hospital is a maze. My girl, she's givin' birth to our first child, and I needed a cigarette, but now I can't seem to find her again. Ma'am, you got to help me. I can't miss the birth of my first child. My poor wife is scared to death, and she tell me Miles, that's me, darling don't you dare leave me...” Dean rambled, layin' the accent on thick.

Sam slipped through the door and into the dormitory while the nurse tried to calm Dean down. Dean kept spinnin' his lie to buy time for Sam, glancing over the woman's shoulder to see when Sam reappeared. Dean was running out of story, and still no Sam.

“Where am I anyway, Ma'am? Is this some sort of special wing? You know, for the crazies?” he asked, whispering the last part like they might start climbing out of the walls if they heard him.

“It most certainly is not,” she told him, sounding appalled at the suggestion.

“It ain't?”

“Sir, this is the nurses' dormitory, and I must ask you to leave at once,” she told him, voice booming.

“But, how am I supposed to find my wi—”

“The nurse at the desk will be able to tell you where she is, but it is inappropriate for you to stay here,” she told him.

Dean gasped. “You don't think I'm a deviant do you?” Dean asked her.

“Sir...”

“I would never!” Dean said as Sam finally appeared, holding Jessica's hand as he pulled her toward the door. “I have never been so insulted in my life, Ma'am. My wife Billie is having our child, and here you are accusing me,” Dean said very loudly, storming toward the door Sam and Jessica just left through. “I will be speaking to someone about this.”

Dean bolted for the car as soon as he was around the side of the building. Sam already had the engine running, and Dean jumped in and gunned it down the street.

“Never kidnapped anyone before. Welcome aboard, Miss Moore,” he said as they navigated toward the outskirts of the city.

Jessica smiled at him, riding between him and Sam on the seat. Her hair was in disarray and her clothes looked disheveled. “Samuel proposed to me,” she told Dean, and Dean nearly crashed the truck, whipping his head around to look at them. Sure enough, on Jessica's hand was a ring Dean recognized, his mom's engagement ring. He hadn't realized that John had it, but that must have been what he'd given Bobby for Sam.

“Wow, congratulations,” he told them, suppressing the sadness that he wasn't having a happy reunion of his own.

“I can't believe he proposed to me in front of all the girls,” she laughed, patting Sam's arm. She made it sound like that most romantic thing in the world instead of a massive waste of time, while Dean made a diversion. Maybe Dean wasn’t doing so well at holding back the bitterness.

“Sam's a romantic,” Dean told her, being careful to obey the speed limit and not draw attention to them. They needed to head north and get to Canada where they could get passage to Europe. Dean wasn't giving up on Cas just yet. He couldn't.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Dean walked into the big tent, taking steadying breaths as he approached the center of the ring. There was noise all around him as others practiced their routines. Dean kept walking though, tuning everything else out. It had taken months to get here. He’d had to get through Canada, get passports and a ship to England, and work until he had enough money to continue on.

Pam’s words had played through his mind every night. _Stay strong._

Now, he looked up at the trapeze high above the circus floor, and he continued forward, determined. He took the rope that led to the ladder, high above, and he began to climb. He kept his shoulders loose and his legs in perfect position.

He could hear people shouting down below, and he could feel their eyes on him as he climbed higher and higher. By the time he reached the rope ladder, the people above him had stopped what they were doing and were staring down at him. Several even ran to stop him, but none of them dared climb after him.

Dean didn't stop climbing though. He climbed all the way up until he was just feet away from the step for the trapeze. Until he was just feet below where Castiel was perched giving pointers to Anna on the trapeze.

“What are you doing here, Dean?” Cas asked, sounding shocked. His eyes were still the same stormy blue that haunted Dean’s dreams every night. His body was still the same one that Dean remembered being pinned beneath in pain and pleasure.

“I think the more important question is what the hell are you doing up here? You're still injured,” Dean said, looking at the way Castiel's leg still had bandages though the cast was gone. It may have been months, but evidence of the injury remained.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I'm sitting Dean not performing. I've been doing this for years. I'm perfectly safe, injured or not,” Cas promised. “Now, stop avoiding my question.”

“I think that should be obvious, Cas. I'm coming for what I want,” Dean replied.

“But, everything you've ever wanted. It is all back there,” Castiel said, looking down at Dean as he swung back and forth on the trapeze. Every time he came close, Dean was tempted to reach out and touch him, but he held back, unsure if he was even still welcome. Cas could’ve found another by now. He could have changed his mind at the very least.

“I did, but it was still missing something. I could never imagine leaving everything I knew. Not ten years ago, and not even one year ago, but Sam said something to me and it stuck. He said it would be different if I was in love. I told him he was full of it, but he was right. I'll always have my family. They made me the man I am, but so have you. And I want you,” Dean told him. “I don't want to fly with anyone else.”

“Dean...”

“I tried to go back. We went to the hospital, but they said you were gone. I couldn't let you go though,” Dean told him. He felt his eyes begin to burn with the mental exhaustion of the months it took to get here. Their time apart had been longer than their time together, but that time together was indelibly marked in Dean’s soul.

“We?”

“Sammy too. He wouldn't let me go alone. He got Jessica to elope with him. I may have given them all of the money I had saved up so they could take a real honeymoon, so I'm really hoping you have a place for me because I don't even have enough for a room in the bad part of town,” Dean admitted, smiling at Cas sheepishly.

“Dean,” Cas said, laughing. “There's always a place for you with me.”

Cas swung down, hanging upside down in front of Dean—injury be damned—and they reached for each other. Dean let him take his hands and pull him in for a long searing kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! There will be an epilogue posted in the coming week or two.


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